


All's Fair

by Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin



Category: Hitman (2007)
Genre: 47 is a stubborn asshole, Assassination, F/M, First Time, Foreign Language Mentions with translations, Gun Violence, Hand Job, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Language, Love Confessions, Nika has a goddamn potty mouth okay, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Discovery, Takes place directly after the movie, Violence, Wet Dream, and so is Nika, drugged 47
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin/pseuds/Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin
Summary: 47 would do anything for Nika, including laying down his own life, if it meant he could keep her safe; she's just not making it easy for him to do either. Picks up where the movie left off. Originally posted on FF many eons ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first multi-chapter fanfiction pieces I ever published online many, many moons ago. I decided it was time for the AO3 community to be subjected to this. I also decided not to edit or alter the orginal text in any way; it's something of a marker for me to see how my writing has progressed. So please enjoy this piece, flaws and all, just like 47 and Nika <3

47 watched intently through the scope on his rifle as Nika stepped from the post office into the sunshine of a bright and mild summer afternoon. Her hair had grown a little longer since the last time he had seen her face to face in the train and she was conservatively dressed in a black mini dress with a seductively revealing neckline- well, conservatively for her, at any rate.

He pulled back slightly from his gun as a small smile lit to his lips remembering the red dress she had worn the night he had used her as a cover in the restaurant on his search for Belicoff. The thin slip of fabric had barely covered her and it wasn't until that long, bloody evening was drawing to an end and she had straddled him on their hotel bed that he found how much the dress really  _had_ hidden. His fingers had touched lightly up the smooth skin on her thighs and he had to stifle a groan as he felt the stirrings of an erection tightening against his trousers; his resolve had almost broken then and there. But the feel of his hands shaking and his heart pounding away like a goddamn jackhammer had quickly reminded him that women, in general, were a dangerous distraction to the mission, and this one in particular was not only a dangerous distraction, but a lethal one. And so he had simply done what he was trained to do: neutralize the threat. The injection of the blackout serum had knocked Nika unconscious almost instantaneously, but still, in spite of all of his extensive training and his own personal doubts, it was all he could do not to brush his fingertips against the softness of her cheek as he pulled the thick comforter over her.

47 gently shook the memory away and placed his eye against his rifle's scope again, bringing Nika into view once more. She was opening the large manila envelope he had sent to her the previous week, and a strange feeling of giddy anticipation began to brew inside him as she pulled the papers out.

He smiled to himself as utter shock followed closely by delighted understanding ticked across her face. 47 acutely understood Nika's fierce desire to be free of Belicoff and had come to find of her dream of owning and running a vineyard as they had sat eating lunch and talking in the front seat of his car in the first few days after he had met her. He couldn't even remember how they had gotten on the topic, as Nika talked enough for the both of them and it was sometimes hard for him to follow her mostly one-sided conversations. But he was definitely listening as she had admitted her want of land of her own, even though she had stopped abruptly, blushed to the color of his tie, and quickly stuffed the last of her sandwich in her mouth before staring awkwardly out the passenger window, as if admitting it had embarrassed her.

And so, his gift of the property he owned in Southern France wine country was a clear and obvious choice for the woman who irritated and angered and ultimately freed him. Freed him from his forced servitude to the International Contract Agency. Freed him, not from a life of violence, because now that he was running, he always would be, but from a life of ordered assassinations and mandatory obedience.

He watched from the rooftop across the street from her as her eyes searched frantically for him, tears glittering harshly, threatening to spill down her cheeks. In that instant, with that unabashedly grateful and hopeful look splashed across her face, he waged an intense internal battle as he was nearly overcome with the need to rush down to the street and drag her into his arms, just to feel her against him, but knew the move would cost them both their lives, as the constant vigilance of other Agents had intensified when the price on his head grew with every moment he eluded them.

He swallowed hard and glanced down to the dead Agent at his feet. The cost of his freedom was glaringly evident, but it was a price he would gladly pay time and again if it meant he could keep Nika safe. And the only way he knew to guard her was to be her invisible shadow- not seen, not felt, but always there. A twinge of disappointment coursed through him at the thought. Never being able to touch her or interact with her in any way left him feeling unexpectedly empty and he wondered, not for the first time, how things might be different if he hadn't drugged Nika that night in the hotel. If he hadn't been so damn sure that taking was she so freely offered was a detriment to the mission.

He didn't consider himself a romantic man, not even remotely so, and didn't know if he'd ever learn enough of emotional human contact to be able to offer Nika what she deserved in a relationship, but he could and would offer his protection, would lay down his life for her, without hesitation, even if it broke his heart to watch her build a new life without him, never knowing he was there. For Nika he would do it without question.

So, as she walked slowly down the street, shoulders slumped slightly as if she was carrying the weight of the disappointment he felt himself, he followed deftly across the rooftops, never losing sight of her.

Nika stepped up to an intersection and stopped, waiting for the light to change and 47 took the opportunity to crouch down and quickly disassemble his sniper rifle, planning to make his way down to the street, to slip into the crowd behind her with his twin Silverballers close at hand under his jacket. He snapped the closures on the lid of his black gun case and straightened, looking down to see Nika still standing on the curb, her back to him.

A gentle breeze gusted up, teasing through her hair and 47 clenched his gloved hand into a tight fist, experiencing, perhaps for the first time, jealously. Shouldn't it be absurd to be jealous of the wind? He thought no, not when he longed for it to be  _his_  fingers tousling through the dark strands.

Nika suddenly became very still and turned her head slightly, seemingly aware of his presence. A small, knowing smile creased her lips and she was off, dashing to her left down a mostly deserted side street.

47 cursed under his breath and took off after her, running to the edge of the rooftop and slipping soundlessly down a fire escape. It was obvious, Nika was not going to make this easy and he was suddenly convinced: this woman was bound and determined to get herself killed, whether she knew it or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Nika ran down an alley off of the street from the intersection she had just been standing at, breathless and grinning, and pressed her back into a dark arched doorway, waiting for 47 to come tearing through looking for her. She knew he'd be pissed, running off the way she did, but it was the only way she could think of to get his attention, to get her hands on him.

The deeds to the vineyard were a completely unexpected gift; the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for her, and all she wanted to do was fling her arms around his neck and thank him.

She had felt a bitter pinch of disappointment when he hadn't immediately appeared, but as she stood on the curb, waiting to cross back to the train station, she had suddenly known he was there somewhere, watching her. Call it premonition, or intuition, or whatever the fuck you wanted – he was there and he was gonna come out and let her thank him properly, and if that meant dragging him out kicking and screaming, she was gonna fucking do it.

She heard the rapid scrape of shoes on pavement and had to suppress a wicked smirk; he could be so damned predictable sometimes.

The footsteps slowed as 47 neared Nika's little hideout and she fisted a hand to her mouth to stop her self from giggling with nervous excitement.

As soon as he edged into view, she grabbed his scarlet tie and pulled him into the doorway with her. A surprised grunt fell from his lips and his eyes widened, a look so out of place on his normally stoic face, that Nika knew she had genuinely caught him off guard. She laughed lightly at the thought. Catching a hitman by surprise was no easy feat, especially one as stealthy and lethal as this one.

She yanked the tie toward her and sighed when his lips, warm and giving, connected with hers. 47 pressed into the doorway with her, his hands planted on either side of her head, his body molding firmly against hers. She breathed deep and pulled in the spiced musk of his aftershave mixing intoxicatingly with the subtly dark scent of spent gunpowder.

She heard a low, seductive growl start deep in his throat as her mouth worked hungrily against his, felt the straining bulge of his arousal nudging against her when she rolled her hips up toward him, and nearly lost her grip on the FedEx envelope he had gifted her. His reaction was certainly more than she had expected, especially when every time she had countered him, or disobeyed him, intentionally or not, he had threatened to stuff her back in his trunk.

They had hopefully moved past that now, she thought wistfully, slowly sliding her hand up the hard plane of his chest, grazing the stiff black lapels of his suit jacket, fingers nimbly finding and brushing against his smooth jaw; but before she could further the exploration her tongue had already begun against his, 47 grasped her wrist and pulled back from her suddenly, unable to hide the fact that he was flushed and panting.

"Nika, we can't do this," he said softly, trying to regain his composure. He looked to her hand locked in his and abruptly let go, seemingly unaware of how tightly he had been gripping her.

Nika's arm fell limply at her side, his refusal shocking her speechless for a moment. While he might be predictable at times, she remembered sadly that there was so much of him that was still a complete goddamn mystery to her.

But she knew she could not give up so easily, not when the feel of him against her felt so fucking  _right_. "Yes we can," she insisted quietly, trying like hell to blink back the tears of her crushed pride. She moved forward attempting to bring her lips to his again.

47 sighed and held her back steadily, the gently firm patience of it making her feel more like a disobedient child than ever before. The tears she had been trying to hold back sprang forward, tracking hotly down her cheeks, tugging miserably at her mascara. The sting of his rejection resonated so harshly it felt as if he had slapped her.

He looked at her, his eyes serious and glinting with what she thought might be regret – or pity. "I cannot protect you like this." He brought his hand up as if to brush her tears away, then seemed to reconsider and let it fall to his side.

"Like what?" she countered bitterly, clutching her envelope to her chest. "You can't just give someone a gift like  _this_  and disappear," she hissed, shaking the papers at him. "Not after all we've been through. Not after all you've done for me." Her voice broke over the last word and tears blurred her vision.

She held her envelope tightly with one hand and pushed roughly at his shoulder with the other, trying to free herself from the confining doorway that had been searingly intimate only moments before. 47 stepped back obligingly, the gesture only hurting her more.

Nika stood in the shadowed alley and wiped at her face, smudging watery black mascara across her cheeks, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to stop her from walking away.

He stared at her evenly, his face calm and carefully emotionless, never giving away a single expression. Nika bristled angrily; the cold bastard didn't even have enough heart to fight for her. "Well, if that's the way you want it -  _Do svidanya,_  asshole,"she bit out before pursing her lips and briskly turning on her heel.

Tears continued to track down her cheeks as she stalked down the alley, bitterly reflecting on what a stupid fucking idiot she was to believe that 47 would just sweep her off her feet and leave his life of contract killing behind.

Her years of whoring for Belicoff had effectively silenced that part of her that desperately hoped to dream, to believe that life might one day get better. That part of her spirit had died a few short months after she had been forced into servitude, but sparked back to life at the unexpected realization that she'd finally have land, finally have a home of her own. She'd dared to dream that that home would have been a safe haven for her hitman, knew it wouldn't really be one without him. But the simple fact that he had pushed her away, that he didn't want any part of that dream, broke her spirit all over again, more succinctly and effectively than Belicoff ever could have.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, clutching her deeds closer, suddenly feeling nauseous and heartsick and humiliated as she walked away.

Nika had almost made it to the end of the alleyway, miserably commending herself for not looking back (because wasn't it so much easier to move forward when you weren't always looking back?) when she was roughly tackled to the ground from behind, scraping her knees and fumbling her envelope in the process. She let loose with a vibrant and impressive string of curses as she turned her head to see 47 covering her, their faces inches apart, and felt the solid yet pleasing crush of his body on hers.

She pulled in a ragged breath and opened her mouth to ask him what the  _fuck_  he was thinking, but was abruptly cut short by the sharp staccato of rapid gunfire directly overhead, followed immediately by the deafening discharge of 47's weapon. Panic squeezed painfully at Nika's heart and time seemed to slow at the terrifying thought that she might never actually live past that moment.

The echoing shots suddenly faded at the screech of tires on asphalt, the sound barely audible over the pierced ringing in her ears. She was quickly dragged to her feet by 47's strong hand under her arm.

Nika stood before him, trembling with shock, fighting to catch her breath. "What…" she began weakly.

47 looked down at her, his face stern, a look bordering on what she thought might have been subdued rage. "This is  _exactly_  what I meant when I said I wouldn't be able protect you, Nika."

"What the fuck are you talking about? We're alive aren't we?" She wrenched her arm from his grasp, and tilted her chin up defiantly, willing her lips to stop quivering.

"That incident would not have happened if you had just kept walking back to the train station. I would have been able to see that car coming long before they got that close." He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. "You distracted me and it almost cost us our lives."

Anger shuddered through her, mixing sourly with the retreating remnants of her adrenaline, leaving her shaken and indignant. "Well, excuse me for being such a fucking  _inconvenience_ to you. I was  _trying_ to walk away from you, in case you didn't notice." She narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger at his chest. "And I don't need your protection, anyways; I can take care of myself." She saw a tic bunch his jaw, the only sign that belied his masked irritation, before she turned away.

She bent to retrieve her battered FedEx envelope and heard him call her name behind her as she straightened. The undeniable need in his voice shook her to her core and almost had her turning back to him, until she remembered how much of a nuisance she must be in his eyes. She squared her shoulders and kept walking, trying to keep at least a  _little_  bit of her dignity intact.

She suddenly felt the firm pull of his hand on her wrist. She whirled around on him and he abruptly released her, no doubt startled by the intense flash of spite in her eyes. She lashed out, tears stinging her eyes, heart aching in her chest, and slapped him hard across his cheek, only wanting to inflict the hurt he had given her.

He didn't flinch, didn't even rub at his face where the red welt had begun to raise up. Was it possible the bastard didn't feel pain?

"If you want me to go, then let me go!" she shouted, her Russian accent breaking through thickly.

He looked at her, the need that had been present in his voice now glaringly evident in his eyes. "I can't…" he began. He stopped and swallowed hard before trying again. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of berating her on personal safety or some other nonsensical bullshit like she was bracing herself for, he pulled his hands up to frame her face and lunged forward, crushing his lips against hers, the unexpected force of it weakening her knees, filling her heart to near bursting.

He pushed her back against the rough brick wall directly behind her, hands sliding up into her hair, tangling in the strands. She flattened her palms over his chest, delighted to feel his heart thumping as wildly as hers.

She thrust her tongue against his desperately, relishing hungrily in the strong, sweet taste of him, feeling more lust and arousal with just that kiss than she ever had with Belicoff or anyone else. Her hands fisted instinctively at his jacket, drawing him toward her, pressing her breasts tightly against him, gasping as her nipples pebbled in response and anticipation, fueling the delicious ache twisting low in her stomach.

47 groaned and broke the kiss to draw in short, hard breaths, bringing his forehead down to rest against hers, settling his hands against her neck, thumbs brushing lightly against her jaw – the sensation prickling goose bumps along her arms.

"I can't," he whispered huskily.

"Can't what?" Nika whispered back nervously, insides rolling uneasily, positive that he was about to push her away again.

"I can't just let you go," he said simply, pulling back and placing a soft kiss to her lips.

She nearly wept with relief at his words, at the realization that maybe her happy ending really was within reach. That maybe she deserved this second chance she was given.

Nika looked to him hopefully as a small half-smile lit to his lips. He bent for a moment to retrieve her envelope from the ground, where she assumed she had dropped it when she was so  _deliciously_ assaulted moments before. He placed the deeds in her hands carefully then reached into his jacket, pulling out a silenced pistol. "I hear France is nice this time of year. Feel like taking a trip?" he asked grasping her hand, leading her toward a future that she would soon find might take a little getting used to.


	3. Chapter 3

47 pulled his gaze from the passing blur of landscape outside the train car window and looked to Nika sleeping in the seat to his right. Her face was calm and relaxed – so far removed from the indignant and fiery look she had cast at him not more than three hours ago in the alley in St. Petersburg when he had tried grabbing her wrist as she walked away from him for the second time. It was a move he now acknowledged as irrational on his part. Irrational, but ultimately inevitable.

He sank back into his chair and looked down to his hands in his lap. There had never been a moment when he had felt such a loss of control. His hands had always been a delicate extension of the weapons he held, moving exactly as needed, but as he had watched Nika walk away, a strange feeling of panic had welled in him and his hands had acted on their own accord trying to pull her back to safety, back into his arms.

He suspected that the heightening and distorting attributes of his adrenaline, spiked as it was by the firefight with the black BMW M5, was the cause of his unacceptably erratic behavior- there seemed to be no other explanation. He could have just as easily let Nika walk away and still would have been able to track her without difficulty. It's what he would have done, had he been thinking clearly. But the close proximity of her body to his own and the intoxicating taste of her mouth still lingering on his lips from the kiss they had shared in the doorway had coupled uneasily with the completely irrational fear that she might run somewhere even he couldn't follow, efficiently wiping away years upon years of training. He had been helplessly reduced to his baser instincts and could process only one primal feeling:  _want_.

_I want her tongue in my mouth,_

_I want her body against mine,_

_I want to be inside her_.

That last thought was so utterly foreign to him and had shaken him so badly that he had to put all of his effort into pulling his lips from hers. He knew if he hadn't stopped himself then he would have taken her right there in the alleyway, in spite of the fact that he wouldn't have had any idea if he was performing the act correctly. Perhaps his instincts would have taken over, moving his body as they had his mouth and tongue and hands and well,  _everything._

Nika shifted and mumbled in her sleep, snapping 47 from his thoughts abruptly. He looked over at her as she slowly woke, rubbing at her bleary eyes and arching her back in a graceful stretch. She gazed up at him and smiled and he couldn't help smiling a little himself; she was beautiful even in her half-awake half-asleep haze with a crisscross pattern pressed into her cheek from where it had rested against the fabric seatback and her dark hair sleep-mussed and lightly tousled.

And just for a moment he was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu. They had played out this scene in a train car not so very long ago early on the day he had killed Belicoff and spared Nika from ever having to feel the bastard's hands on her again. 47 had told her before he left her standing in the aisle of the train car that he would find her, had sworn to himself that he'd do whatever he could to see that she was safe, even if it was from a distance, undetected. But it was clear now, after being pulled to her side, quite literally, that there really was no other place he'd rather be. He'd just have to become more meticulous in modifying his defense tactics.

There was no doubt in his mind that the ICA would send more agents after them; no doubt the impressive price on their heads would draw the interest of even the most amateur bounty hunters. His vigilance had been heightened since they had departed the alleyway and would most likely remain so indefinitely, or at least until any and all threats against Nika had been neutralized. And even then he was unsure if they'd ever be left to anything that closely resembled peace.

But if it was a constant state of chaos they'd be subjecting their lives to, with the ultimate reward being the right to share those lives with each other, 47 knew with a sudden swell of conviction that he was eager and willing, he was just slightly uncertain of how long Nika would put up with that amount of disarray.

He glanced over at her, trying unsuccessfully to quiet that anxious, gnawing uncertainty as she finished taking a long draught off of a water bottle she had purchased from the refreshment cart on the train. She smiled and passed the bottle to him.

"Hello," she said, eyes bright and holding no trace of the sleepy daze that had been present in them only minutes before.

"Hello," 47 answered after swallowing a mouthful of the cool water.

He ran the back of his hand against his mouth, wiping away excess moisture, but suddenly stilled as Nika's gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips. Desire coursed straight to his groin at the sight of her pupils dilating, blatantly telling of her arousal. She drug her tongue across her bottom lip, imitating the movement his hand had made against his own mouth and very nearly had him coming undone right there in the train car.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, slightly appalled at the bulge tightening against his trousers as he sat in the middle of a moderately crowded train. He hooked a finger behind the knot in his tie, loosening the suddenly restricting fabric about his neck and took another sip from the bottle, wishing desperately that it was something a little stronger than water sliding down to his stomach.

He cleared his throat and glanced down to his watch before looking up to Nika, a bit annoyed to see amusement on her face.

"Are you okay? You look a little flushed." A suppressed smile twitched at the corners of her lips. At least he could commend her for not laughing outright.

"I'm fine," he bit out tersely. " We should go over the itinerary."

"Alright, alright," she said holding her hands up in mock surrender. "I'll do anything you want me to."

He looked to her face, studying her expression, and felt his heart stumble in his chest when he saw that she was completely serious –  _anything._

He cleared his throat again and pulled two transfer tickets out of an inside pocket in his jacket, handing them both over to Nika. "We'll take this train overnight until it stops in Berlin tomorrow afternoon, then transfer to the ICE 558 line that will take us to Cologne. I'll need to obtain a suitable vehicle there that will get us to Provence, France."

"Okay…couple questions then." She tapped the tickets lightly against her knee. "Did you reserve us a room in the sleeper car?"

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"There are separate cots," he answered, as if she required explanation, and was a little delighted to see a small pout tug at her bottom lip.

"Alright, but why do we have to take a transfer in Berlin? This line runs straight through to Paris."

"One of the first rules of successful evasion is unpredictability," he stated simply.

Nika looked thoughtfully to the tickets in her lap. "And who, precisely, are we evading? I thought you, uh, took care of Belicoff," she said softly, never bringing her eyes up to meet his.

"He'll never hurt you again, Nika."

Her gaze slowly found his and he could see that unshed tears glittered at the corners of her eyes. "I dreamt so many times of killing that fucker myself, but I couldn't ever muster enough courage to do it. I was so afraid that he'd discover I was even considering it and he'd beat me harder than ever."

She broke down into sobs then, hands flying up to cover her face.

And without even a thought as to what he was doing, he pulled her into his lap and held her against his chest. He had often wondered, since being denied it as a child, if he'd ever be capable of compassion, if it was one of those traits learned only from experience, but suddenly realized, as he cradled Nika in his arms, her body trembling against him, her tears splashing warmly onto his shirt and tie, that comforting her was as second nature to him as disassembling and cleaning his weapons.

He ran his hands gently up and down her back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, drawing in the smell of her hair as he did so, enveloping himself in the scent of sun warmed gardenias. His heart constricted painfully and he gathered her closer.

Nika sniffled as her sobs subsided and drew back to look up at him meekly. He brought a hand up and thumbed away a tear rolling over the dragon tattoo on her cheek.

"The agency that employed me has been tracking us and will continue to do so until the job is finished." Nika winced at his words and he sighed heavily. "And that is the reason for multiple transfers."

"Will we be safe once we reach the vineyard?" she whispered, blinking back the last of her tears.

"I had the perimeter fortified when I signed the deeds to your name and the seclusion of the acreage will allow for increased protection. So, yes, we should be safe there."

Nika offered him a small frown as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of his shirt and jacket. "Were you really expecting me to live out there on my own?"

"Only alone if you had wished it. It was my intention to protect you sight unseen as I had thought, and probably correctly, that we would attract less attention if we were not observed together."

"You would still have protected me if I had brought a man to live with me there? Just let me go on with my life without you?" Her voice was soft with wonder and her hands stilled on his chest.

47 brought his hands up to gently frame her face and looked into her eyes, not daring to hide the sincerity in his voice. "Nika, I would do anything, including giving my life, if it meant I could keep you safe."

And that alone seemed to be answer enough for her. What the question might have been, he did not know, but at his words she smiled softly and leaned forward to press a light kiss to his lips. She slid off of his lap and held her hand out for him. 47 stood and placed his hand in hers and followed, heart beating a rapid and uneven staccato, as she led him back to their cabin in the sleeper car.

Nika looked back over her shoulder, eyebrow arched in question, and he wordlessly placed the room key in her outstretched palm. She examined the key for a moment before stopping outside of their reserved sleeper room.

47 pulled in a shaky breath as he stood behind her, fighting the viciously dark part of him, the part that had been drilled into him since childhood, which spoke, or rather shouted that this woman was a dangerous distraction and positively had to be neutralized. Personal involvement with  _anyone_  was an unquestionably lethal mistake in any situation. He pulled his hand into a trembling fist, repeating rapidly to himself:  _I am no longer what I once was, I am no longer what I once was…_  as Nika slipped the key into the lock.

It had not quiet finished turning in its tumbler before the train came to a shuddering and violent stop, the deafening screech of metallic brakes on the train's tracks overshadowed only by the riotous crack of automatic gunfire. The force of the sudden stop had pitched Nika and 47 to the ground roughly and he immediately shifted to cover her, reaching into his jacket to release his silenced Silverballer from its holster high on the left side of his chest.

He leveled his weapon into the thick, white cloud of teargas that was rapidly filling the train car they had just walked from and kneeled over Nika protectively in the narrow hallway of the adjoining sleeper car, taking the raucous curses coming from her as a good sign that she was still alive.

His finger settled over his pistol's trigger and for one fraction of a second before the gun came loudly to life in his hand, one thought dominated all others in his mind:

_I am no longer what I once was_


	4. Chapter 4

"Fucking cocksucking bastards!" Nika choked as she lay on the train car floor rasping through a throat seared by teargas. The thick cloud of fumes that had quickly filled the derailed train car was slowly beginning to dissipate through the opened emergency exits on the sidewalls, but there was still enough of the acrid smoke in the air to burn into her lungs with each gasping breath.

She looked up and blinked through an uncontrollable stream of tears to see 47 kneeling over her, his body tense and virtually motionless except for the slight jerk of his right hand as his gun fired, and felt his left hand firmly on her back pressing her protectively to the floor. She could see that she was not the only one affected by the noxious fumes, though, as thin rivulets of tears ran down his cheeks, although he made no move to pull his hand from her back to wipe at his face.

The gunfire suddenly ceased, because the assailants were reloading or because they were dead she did not know, but before Nika could even process what was happening 47 had scooped her up and set her on her feet next to him before their sleeper-room door. She watched numbly, scrubbing tears from her burning eyes, as 47 rammed the door open with a dropped shoulder. It swung open into the small room smoothly, the doorknob and bolt hanging limply from their splintered casing.

Nika heard through the panicked commotion in the train car the heavy stomp of boots nearing as 47 grasped her hand and pulled her into the sleeper room. He used the butt of his gun to smash out the window and began to swiftly clear out glass shards from the bottom pane as she glanced around the small cabin. Two cots lay parallel to each other across the walkway, their deep burgundy comforters marred by a sprinkling of broken glass and debris. Twin brass sconces set on the walls beside the beds blinked on and off sporadically casting the room in a soft, strobing light and for just a moment Nika felt an unexpected and brief twinge of regret for the moment they could have had together in this room; a moment that had been violently snatched away from them. Bitter anger welled inside her and she wiped at tears she couldn't completely blame on the teargas, thinking, and not for the first time since meeting 47, what the fuck she had gotten herself into.

"Nika." 47's voice was low and hoarse. He grasped her shoulders, his eyes locked onto hers, effectively drawing her attention back to him. "I'm going out the window first so I can catch you when you jump down."

Nika nodded and watched as he yanked a comforter off of one of the beds and laid it over the windowpane. He holstered his gun and disappeared over the edge of the opening. Nika stepped forward on shaky legs and peered down to him. 47 stood on the rocky slope beside the railroad tracks five feet down with his arms stretched up to her, the subtle arch of his brows an unspoken urge for her to hurry. She immediately sat on the sill and swung her legs over. She took a deep breath and had begun to push herself forward when she heard the sharp crack of a gunshot behind her and felt a sudden and intense flare of pain bite into her upper right arm. She yelped in surprise and hurt and half-jumped, half-fell out of the window, legs flailing wildly.

47 caught her with ease and grasped her tightly as he dropped to his knees and rolled them both under the train car. Nika ended up on her back with 47 straddling her on his hands and knees. He brought an index finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and she swallowed back a sob and lay motionless beneath him. Her arm was beginning to throb with each fluttering beat of her heart and she could feel the warm stream of what must have been blood tracking down her skin.

There was a grunt from the side of the train they had just exited and Nika turned her head in time to see two booted feet landing in the gravel less than a meter from where they were laying. But their pursuer's weight shifted awkwardly as he connected with the rocky ground and one ankle rolled to a morbidly unnatural angle; Nika cringed at the sharp, brittle snapping of delicate bone. The man released a muffled scream as he pitched sideways, landing in the gravel with a thud, and she saw that a gas mask covering his face was the reason for the dampened sound of his cries.

47's arm flew in a blur to his jacket and he pulled his gun from its holster, not hesitating to fire a bullet into the man's forehead, cutting him off mid-scream. Nika felt her stomach twist nauseously at the sudden silence of the man's shrieks, and knew she'd never forget the way they had just ceased with no preamble whatsoever.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it, though, as 47 moved off of her, a serious and distant look in his eyes, and crawled to the opposite side of the train car they had come from. Nika grimaced as she sat up and shuffled after him, pain flaring angrily up and down her arm, but not daring to look, afraid of what she might see.

Her arm quickly became a trembling mess and simply refused to support any more of her weight, so she did her best to clutch it closer to her body while somehow continuing to crawl limply the last little bit to where 47 had moved to a squatting position, observing the safety of the perimeter.

He cleared the underside of the train and straightened, not even bothering to look back for her or reach his hand down in an offer to help her up, seemingly supposing that she would follow him blindly. She bit back a curse, marveling bitterly at how indifferent he could be toward her depending on the situation they found themselves in. The man with the gun in his hand, who had killed without a second thought, was not the same man who had pushed her up against an alley wall for a soul-shattering kiss, or pulled her onto his lap to gently wipe away her tears; they were two completely different people, utterly separate from one another.

But she suddenly realized, with a flash of a somewhat unwanted insight, that his cool detachment, as frighteningly disheartening as it was, was just about all that had kept her alive in this whole mess; and  _still_  she hoped, hoped with all that she was worth, that once they were finally able to reach the safety of the vineyard, that the hitman side of 47 would be left behind, that the caring, passionate man she had caught such fleeting glimpses of would remain with her.

Nika sighed heavily, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand-  _get out from under the goddamn train_. She scooted forward as best she could while wrapping her left arm over the injured one, holding it as close to her stomach as possible and feeling a little relief from the tremendous ache. She slowly moved into bright, warm sunshine and squinted up to see 47 peering carefully into the thick tangle of trees running along the tracks. She glanced back to the train at the panicked sound of various shouts and wails and saw people beginning to hop from the train car's exits, escaping the teargas that was still streaming out of opened windows and doors. She quickly looked back to 47, but he didn't seem at all concerned by the prospect of an impending mob. A rush of relief swept over her at that fact, taking it to mean that the man lying on the opposite side of the train had been the last remainder of their immediate danger.

She gazed up at him and his eyes, lit to a striking hazel by the bright sunlight, suddenly connected with hers as she sat on the ground beside their derailed train, with her arms wrapped tightly about herself and the last remnants of her tears drying on her cheeks.

He suddenly fell to his knees before her, his face wrought with an indecipherable flurry of emotions. His brows knit together in what might have been concern, before dipping his gaze down to her arm huddled close to her body. His eyes shot back to hers, fire heating the already darkening green color.

Nika drew back instinctively and swallowed hard, casting her eyes down. "I was following you out the window, like you said. I just wasn't fast enough. I…I'm sorry." Her voice hitched painfully in her chest. She did as she was told, did as he asked, she didn't shot on fucking purpose. Oh God, he wasn't going to hit her, was he? He hadn't ever even threatened it in all of their time together, but she braced herself for the strike, nonetheless.

"You're hurt." His voice was low and wavered slightly.

Nika gasped softly in surprise at the blow that didn't come and looked to his eyes.

"You're hurt," he said again. "And it's my fault." He reached his hands out and gently pulled her arm toward him, inspecting the wound carefully. She winced at a flare of pain and looked down. A three-inch gash ran across her upper arm, inflicted when the bullet grazed across her skin, just below the start of her sleeve, and dark lines of drying blood streaked down to her elbow. The wound seemed to have started to clot, though, as there was only a small dribble of fresh blood running slowly down her arm, pooling at 47's fingers wrapped loosely about her bicep. He drug his eyes back to hers, with one of the most genuine expressions of remorse she had ever seen cast roughly across his face.

She licked lips that suddenly felt very dry and tried to offer him a reassuring smile. "Hey, it's not really that bad. There's been… I've had…" She let the sentence drop off, not quite able to bring herself to admit to him that she'd had worse injuries at the hand of Belicoff.

"No," he said softly. "It is my job to keep you safe, Nika. I have failed you and it is inexcusable." Tears glittered harshly at the corners of his eyes and he blinked them away rapidly as he slowly lowered her arm back to her middle. He reached up to undo the knot in his tie and slipped the silken strip of fabric from his neck.

Nika sat in stunned silence as 47 carefully wrapped the tie about her arm. He had shown her the most vulnerable and fragile side of himself, even if it had only been for a fraction of a second, and she knew then, with more surety than she had ever felt before, that she was in love with this man.

She drew in a shaky breath as he lowered her arm again and forced herself to stay calm. She hadn't ever been in love before; she certainly had convinced men that she was in love with  _them_ \- it was a part of her job that she had learned to play well. But the almost overwhelming feelings of trust and passion and affection that filled her heart to near bursting as 47 knelt before her in the gravel next to their derailed train, his face endearingly pained and expectant all at once, were totally and alarmingly foreign to her.

What the fuck was she supposed to do now? Tell him? If she confessed all these new and terrifying feelings to him and he told her he couldn't understand or –worse- pushed her away as he had done in the alleyway earlier, she knew she'd be devastated beyond all repair.

She swallowed hard and looked up from her hands that lay limply clasped in her lap to her arm, expertly bandaged in his scarlet tie. Her heart fluttered wildly at the sight and the memory of carefully knotting it for him in the hotel room they shared last week flashed brightly to the forefront of her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and drug in a steadying breath. Fuck it. Fuck his reaction and her potentially broken heart. She had to tell him.

She opened her eyes and squinted against the glaring sunlight, mouth already open and ready to pour her heart out. 47 wasn't there. She quickly cast a glance at her surroundings, not seeing anyone with a bald head  _or_ a fucking barcode tattoo. Her pulse kicked up a notch at the thought of being left alone, but the beginnings of her blind panic were quickly overshadowed by the burning flare of indignation. Fucking stealthy ninja bastard left her alone  _again_ , and right when she was about to admit to him something she had never uttered to anyone in her life, ever. That asshole was gonna get a mouthful when she got her hands on him, and that was a fucking promise.


	5. Chapter 5

47 peered around the trunk of a thick oak just behind the start of the trees lining the side of the train tracks, and instantly spotted Nika in her unrelentingly revealing black dress, his scarlet tie wrapped as a makeshift dressing about her arm. An unexpected twinge of regret flared briefly in his chest at the sight of that bandage - a loud and colorful reminder that he had failed to protect her. In the whole of his existence, he had never been responsible for any life other than his own, and even then had held little regard for it, as completely replaceable he saw himself to be. But now, with Nika's life perched precariously in his hands, with every possible threat being forced upon them, when it had  _really_  fucking mattered, he had not been at her side to spare her the wound she now carried. He shook his head and dashed the remnants of the tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand bitterly, forcing himself to focus on her, and watched as she approach the trees.

She had regained her footing after she had opened her eyes only to see that he was no longer kneeling before her, and seemed somewhat unsteady in her heels as she stomped to the trees he was concealing himself behind, anger flashing brightly in her eyes. He knew she had a right to be somewhat  _unsettled_ by him moving away from her silently, but outright anger seemed disproportional to the situation - and then he remembered that it was Nika _,_ after all; the woman's reaction to  _anything_  was disproportional to the situation.

As soon as the shooting had started and the teargas began pouring into the train car, he had calculated the total number of assailants to be four; two had already been dispatched inside the train, the third had been taken out after his unfortunate landing beside the tracks, and the fourth was currently stalking an oblivious Nika closely as she pushed herself through the tangle of low-lying branches to his immediate left. He had noticed the final shooter exiting the train with the flood of other passengers, trying his best to blend in with the crowd, but the indentations around his face from a recently removed gasmask had alerted 47 immediately. And the only way to draw the gunman into the relatively private enclosure of the forest was to separate himself from Nika, knowing she would inadvertently lure the man straight into the path of his pistol. Also knowing that she'd be furious with him using her in such a way, although he did not presently see any other viable option.

47 dipped further behind the tree, gun steady in his hand, as Nika advanced, passing without even looking in his direction. He suppressed a growl of frustration. If they were to be making their way to the vineyard  _together_ , being pursued the whole way there, he'd have to teach her basic tactical and survival skills, starting with ' _be aware of your goddamn surroundings, Nika_ '.

His arm shot out and he grasped her by the wrist, pulling her toward him and pirouetting her back against the tree in one swift motion. He quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, and saw her eyes, wide from surprise, suddenly narrow fiercely. He shot her a warning look in return and listened as the fourth gunman's footsteps paused before he began rustling through the branches Nika had passed through moments earlier.

47 shifted slightly, bringing the pistol in his left hand up to a perfect ninety-degree angle to his body, while keeping his right hand firmly over Nika's mouth. She trembled under his touch, and he didn't even have to look over at her to know it wasn't from fear, but unadulterated fury. He mentally removed her from the forefront of his mind, training all of his focus on the man pushing his way through the foliage before him.

The man stopped short when he saw 47, his lips curling back from his teeth in a snarl, and immediately raised the gun in his hands. 47 didn't give him the opportunity to fire.

The fourth gunman dropped to his knees, the perfectly executed headshot leaving a gaping hole in his forehead, and slumped limply to the leaf-littered forest floor.

47 turned back to Nika, wishing he could just keep his hand over her mouth a little while longer, knowing she would likely berate him relentlessly the moment she had the chance. His hand lingered for just a moment, feeling her breath huffing out of her nostrils on an exhale, before she wrenched it away. And then her finger came up, jabbing him in the chest.

"You left me,  _again,_ " she began, her eyes still narrowed.

His heart contracted painfully at that. The first time he had left her, it was to finish off Belicoff, to spare her from the servitude she had been forced into; this time he was only stepping away in an effort to save her  _life_. He had only left her in order to protect her.

He opened his mouth in an attempt to explain himself, but was cut short by Nika's withering stare. She removed her jabbing finger from his chest and slammed her hands down to her hips.

"We are in this together. You can't just decide to fucking up-and-leave without keeping me informed as to what your plan is! Especially when I was about to tell you…" She stopped abruptly, eyes wide, mouth snapping shut.

He looked at her, his eyebrow cocked in mild confusion. "Tell me what?"

A bright blush tinged her cheeks and she brought her arms about her middle, her eyes suddenly searching the forest floor. "Nothing. It doesn't matter anymore."

He was silent for a moment, considering the rapid change in her demeanor, before turning and surveying the wooded area before them. They had been on the train for approximately two hours, and at this distance from St. Petersburg, he estimated them to be near the small Russian town of Luga. And with the failing sunlight casting long, dappling shadows onto the ground, indicated the low position of the sun, he knew that if they started walking now, they'd get to the city by nightfall.

He took two steps in the direction of their next stop, then paused, remembering Nika's words about keeping her informed. He had never had any reason to explain his actions or intentions to anyone, and had operated on his own for so long that he sometimes forgot that Nika really had no idea as to where they were going, or what situations they may find themselves in. He turned slowly to see her still huddled against the tree, her arms wrapped tightly about herself, her face a careful study in guarded misery.

He closed the distance between them and hooked a finger under her chin, gently raising her head to look into her eyes. "All I have ever done since I first laid eyes on you, my only endeavor, has been to keep you safe." His gaze dropped to his tie wrapped about her arm, and he swallowed hard against an almost overwhelming rush of guilt, before bringing his eyes to hers again. "You were wounded and for that I am sorry," he paused, considering the foreign weight of the apology. His training had taught him that apologizing to anyone, even oneself, was never acceptable – it was seen as a sign of weakness, an admission that the task was not completed successfully, which in the ICA was utterly intolerable. But the image of the gash marring her arm, a wound which would most certainly leave a scar, a permanent reminder that this day may have ended  _very_ differently, flashed almost constantly in his mind and he was, for the first time in his life, sorry, truly and deeply sorry that he had let it happen.

He cleared his throat and absently reached up to his neck to adjust his tie until he remembered that he was no longer wearing a tie, and so let his arms fall limply to his sides.

"I cannot promise you that I will always be at your side, Nika, but I will swear to you that I will do everything in my power to protect you, even in those times when we are apart."

She stood quietly before him, the vibrant reds and yellows from the setting sun playing softly across her face, sparkling at the hint of tears welling in her eyes. An impish smile teased at her lips and she stepped forward, looping her arms under his jacket and around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

He was stunned to immobility for a moment, still half-expecting for her to launch into another impassioned tirade, and when she remained quiet he tentatively reached around her shoulders, embracing her warmly. Nika instantly relaxed against him and fetched a deep sigh.

"You continue to surprise me," she murmured against his chest, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "You're so fucking unpredictable."

"Unpredictability is one of the…" he began, but Nika cut him off mid-sentence.

" 'First rules of successful evasion.' I know, I know." She laughed lightly, pulling back to look up at him, and grinned. "I just meant that there are so many sides of you and I just never know which one to expect."

He stood looking down at her, a soft breeze tousling gently through her dark hair, and realized that it wasn't until he had met her that he had experienced anything other than a carefully subdued feeling of rage or the coldly calculating impassiveness that was required of a contract killer. He had been subjected to such a wide range of emotions, some of which he had yet to catalogue or understand, since being by Nika's side, that he barely knew what to expect from  _himself_.  _I am no longer what I once was;_ a constant whisper, a grounding mantra, continued to play an incessant loop in his mind.

He offered her a smile and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'd have to say that that is your fault," he said.

She peered up at him, puzzled. He cast a glance at the forest surrounding them, trying to decide how he would explain his response, and was alarmed to see how quickly the light from the setting sun had faded. He looked back to her. "There is a town near here that has acceptable lodgings, but we need to start walking now in order to make it there before nightfall. We can decide what will be our next course of action in the morning."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He paused in turning away. "For what?"

"For keeping me informed." She flashed him a bright smile and held out a hand, gesturing for him to lead the way.

They began walking side by side in a companionable silence. The temperature was still mild, but would soon drop to an uncomfortable chill while they made their way to Luga, and 47 mentioned it to Nika. They stopped for a moment while he took off his suit jacket and gently slipped her injured right arm through the first sleeve and her left through the second. Her small frame was almost completely enveloped in the custom-tailored jacket; it hung just above her knees and her fingers but barely peeked past the cuffs. 47 thought he'd never seen her in a more appealing outfit. They continued on through the forest, fallen leaves crunching dryly under their feet, the wind sighing softly through tree branches. And when Nika timidly reached her hand out and entwined her fingers with his, 47 made no objections, finally allowing that most constant whisper,  _I am no longer what I once was_ , to fade seamlessly into a voice that spoke to a truth he could not deny:

_I am_ more _than what I once was_


	6. Chapter 6

Nika and 47 made their way into Luga after a briskly chilled forty-five minute's walk, arriving just as night fell. Their short journey through the woods had been fortunately uneventful, though they  _had_  heard the sound of sirens traveling in the direction of their train's derailment at one point and had seen a helicopter rushing overhead shortly thereafter. It was the only moment in their walk that 47 had visibly tensed; he had silently ushered her closer to a large, leafy tree, moving them from the view of the helicopter quickly and had only begun to move again in the direction of Luga when the heavy thwack of its rotor-blades had faded into the distance. They had continued on, but he had stopped shortly thereafter, slipping his holsters off of his shoulders and sliding them into a large pocket sewn inside of the jacket Nika wore, explaining that they would attract less attention if he weren't displaying his weapons so prominently. When she had asked if he needed the guns close at hand, 47 had only replied that he still carried weapons that were not visible.

Nika shivered and wrapped 47's suit jacket more tightly about herself when a breeze swept past them as they ventured down a quiet residential road lit warmly by street lamps. She sucked in a sharp breath and winced as the dull ache from her gunshot wound flared angrily at the sudden move of her arm and the resulting heavy thump of 47's pistols.

47 stopped walking abruptly and quickly turned to her, concern knitting his brows together. He placed his hands on her shoulders gently, his eyes searching her face. She felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks under his scrutinization. "I'm fine, really." She smiled weakly, trying unsuccessfully to mask her pain.

"We have been through enough together for me to know when you're lying, Nika," he said, a sexy sideways grin curving at his mouth.

She swallowed against the butterflies building in her stomach, her pain, fear, weariness, all of it, briefly forgotten at the sight of that smile softening the lines on his face. And suddenly found herself helplessly bringing her lips to his. He stiffened fractionally before slipping his hands to her hips, his lips breathlessly parting to allow for the languid glide of Nika's tongue against his. She drew back from him slowly, relishing in the momentarily dazed expression on his face.

"I'm fine," she said again, " _really_ ".

She glanced to the quiet residential street surrounding them, supposing that the families inside the homes were just sitting down to their dinners, and for just a moment, felt the bittersweet rush of nostalgia, remembering living in a town not much unlike this one as a child. But the memory was old and faded, a fleeting picture of a life she had lived so long ago that it had almost been completely forgotten altogether.

She looked back to 47 and smiled sweetly, doing her best to suppress the welling sadness of an innocence lost, knowing that dwelling on it would only drag her down into a grief she had always worked so hard to avoid. She brought her uninjured arm up and playfully patted 47's cheek, earning herself a stern grimace from him.

"Let's keep moving," she said lightly. "I'm sure there's a hotel somewhere in this town."

He looked at her carefully for a moment, trying to analyze her emotions no doubt, before glancing at the street around them, sighing. "We need to find a pharmacy first. Cleaning and bandaging your wound properly is a priority."

Nika glanced down to her arm, to where the tie wrapped there under the jacket sleeve, not really wanting to give it back to him. It was a part of him that he had given to her selflessly, and she saw it as a reminder that there really was a compassionate, protective man hidden inside of the contract killer; a man she had begun, perhaps against her better judgment, to fall in love with.

She looked at him standing before her, the top button of his crisp, white shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, looking more approachable than ever, but felt all the conviction she had held earlier about telling him how she felt fade rapidly away, inexplicably. She thought it might have had to do with the persistent fear of his rejection that followed her closely like an ominous black rain cloud. But how long did she think she could realistically keep it to herself? Maybe by the time they got to the vineyard, maybe then she'd finally be ready. She laughed lightly at her own uncertainty. She had been told what to do, what to feel, for most of her life and now, when she was free to think for herself, all she allowed herself was  _maybe._

47 glanced at her in mild bafflement as her light laughter turned into near-hysterical giggles. "Are you okay?" he asked, his tone sincerely concerned.

"Maybe," she answered, the sound of the word coming from her mouth making her laugh even harder. She couldn't even say why she found it so funny. The irony of it all most likely. She had all the freedom in the world to finally do as she pleased, to speak her mind without fear of backlash, and she was still held back from speaking three little words by her own fucking anxiety.

She gasped in breaths as her giggles finally subsided and looked up to 47, wiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Done now?" The barest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. She nodded and glanced at the houses lining the street, noting the few homes that had their drapes drawn back slightly, curious residents peeking out to see what all the commotion was.

"Guess I'm pretty good at getting attention, aren't I?" She looked up at him, grinning.

"Indeed." Even in the dimmed light she could see the amusement flashing in his eyes. "We're going to have to do something about that."

They began walking down the street side by side and Nika looked up at him. "What does that mean?" She looped her arm around his as they stepped down the quiet road together.

He cast her a sidelong glance. "I only mean that I need to teach you the more basic tactical skills necessary for your own protection. One of which is 'keeping a low profile'."

She smiled at that. Her hair, her clothes, there was not much of her that spoke to 'keeping a low profile', but she understood his reasoning. "Will you teach me how to use a gun?" she asked excitedly.

"Among other things, yes."

Nika did her best to contain her delight. Belicoff and his brother had always dealt heavily in the business of firearms, and Nika had been, for the most part, frightened of the weapons, due mostly to the fact that she had no idea how to use them properly. Though she had always been intrigued by them, and had dreamt of unloading one into Belicoff on many occasions. And she knew with 47, who was obviously an expert in the use of guns, as her teacher, she'd be more than capable of protecting herself. That, and the fact that her firearms training would be an excellent opportunity for close physical contact with 47, made her body flush with giddy excitement.

She grinned up at him as they walked along, subduing an urge to go skipping wildly down the street.  _Keep a low profile, Nika_ , she reminded herself.

She gave 47's arm a light squeeze and nodded solemnly. "Whatever you think is best," she said smiling.

They made their way into Luga's small business district fifteen minutes later and located the pharmacy easily. Nika blew out a relieved sigh when they found that they had arrived ten minutes before closing. Her arm was beginning to ache fiercely and she knew that with some mild painkillers (or a shot or three of vodka) she'd be infinitely more comfortable.

A small bell above the door jangled softly as they entered and a bored-looking teenager behind the counter across the store glanced up from the cell phone in his hands. He looked at them skeptically for a moment before centering his attention back on his phone and Nika instantly knew the reason for his momentary suspicion; they were  _outsiders_. In a town as small as this, where it was likely that everyone knew everyone, they'd be easy to single out.

If 47 noticed the teenager's glance, he made no mention of it. He stooped and picked a small shopping basket from the floor and walked silently to the aisle marked первая помощь -  _first aid._ He perused the limited selection, setting a package of gauze, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a small roll of medical tape, and box of mild pain relieving tablets into the basket as he maneuvered his broad shoulders between the narrow aisle, Nika following behind him. She had to consciously suppress a smirk; the fluorescent lights reflecting dully off of his bald head, the small plastic basket grasped in one large hand –he seemed so ridiculously  _domestic_. He scowled at her over his shoulder when she snickered softly. She made a zipping motion across her lips and did her very best not to burst into a fit giggles.

They made their way to the counter and 47 set their few items down, adding to them a small sewing kit from a shelf full of other travel size products. The teenager at the register, Nikolai as his nametag stated, fetched an exasperated sigh as he set his cell phone down and began scanning their purchases, flashing them a baleful glare.

47 turned to Nika, his glance ghosting over her intensely before he reached toward her. Her pulse kicked up a few notches and she swore she stopped breathing as he slipped his hand inside of his jacket she still wore – and plucked a black leather billfold from an inside pocket. He flashed her a sly smile before turning to pay for their items.

Nika blew out a pent up breath and willed her heart to slow to a normal pace. So that's how he wanted to play it? Because that was a game she played to win. She began to think of ways she could get him back, when her thoughts were interrupted by 47 speaking to Nikolai in fluent Russian.

"Вы можете порекомендовать отель здесь?"  _Can you recommend any lodgings here?_

Nikolai handed 47 a plastic bag filled with their purchases and looked at him warily. "Ольга Логинова работает отеле две улицы вниз. Вы двое собираетесь оставаться в городе надолго ли?"  _Olga Loginova runs an Inn two streets down. You two going to be staying in town long?_

"No." 47 flashed him a polite smile that faded as soon as he turned away. They left the store without another word.

The street was as eerily quiet as it was when they had entered the pharmacy, if not more so, and they walked quickly to the Inn that Nikolai had mentioned. It was a large, three story house with lights blazing invitingly from all windows. They stood on the small stoop, Nika shivering against the night's increasing chill, and 47 rang the bell.

The door opened after a moment, washing them in a welcoming warmth, and a stout, plump woman with bright red cheeks and a gray-streaked bun atop her head was suddenly standing before them, smiling brightly; a refreshing change from the coldly skeptical teenager in the pharmacy.

"у вас есть свободная комната?"  _Do you have a room to spare?_ 47 asked.

"конечно! Пожалуйста, входите в!"  _Certainly! Please come in!_ She stepped back from the door, ushering them into the house. "Похоже, вы говорите по-английски"  _It sounds like you speak English_.

Nika's gaze shot to 47; his Russian was impeccable and she wondered how this woman knew it wasn't his first language.

The woman continued, "Я говорю на английском, но это было какое-то время."  _I can speak English, but it has been a while._ She smiled sweetly and began to speak in an English heavily laden with a thick Russian accent. "I'm Olga, welcome."

Nika extended her hand when it was obvious 47 was not going to. "I'm Nika and this is," she paused, mind grasping frantically for a name that wouldn't be as hard to explain as '47', "This is Timothy."

47 looked to her, eyebrow arched. She just shrugged.

"Very nice to meet you." Olga shook Nika's hand briskly. "I have one room left. All the others are full with people from the train accident. Were you two on the train when it derailed?" Her glance flitted between them expectantly.

47 replied with a curt 'No', making it clear that he was not willing to elaborate.

Olga seemed unsure for a moment before smiling again and nodding knowingly. "Fair enough." She turned and waved her hand at them, ushering them to follow. She lead them through a cozy sitting area, into the large kitchen, mentioned that dinner had already been served, but let them know snacks were always available, and stopped at a small linen closet at the base of a narrow staircase. She gathered a stack of towels and handed them to 47.

"Your room is on the top floor at the end of the hall. I would show you, but the doctor says with my back, I shouldn't go up and down so much." She smiled apologetically.

Nika voiced their thanks, and Olga smiled warmly. "It's what I'm here for, dear."

They started up the stairs, 47 leading the way. Olga called up to them when they reached the second floor landing and Nika turned to peer down at her. "Check out is normally noon, but with these circumstances," she flapped her hand at no one in particular, "take as much time as you need." She winked conspiratorially.

Nika nodded, smiling and continued up the stairs behind 47. He had a bit of head start on her and was a few steps up. Nika reached her hand out, intending to show him just how fun the game that he had begun could be. Her fingers brushed lightly up the inseam of his pant leg to his thigh as he mounted the stairs.

47 stopped abruptly, craning his neck to look down at her. Nika yanked her hand back and stared up at him in total innocence. "What?"

That sideways grin curved at his lips and he shook his head lightly before turning to climb the last few stairs.

Their room, nestled at the end of a long hallway, was comfortable and homey, with a queen sized bed, replete with a soft flowery duvet stretched across it, set against one wall. A small, yet efficient washroom sat tucked behind a door nearest the entrance to their room.

47 slipped his jacket gently from Nika's shoulders, pulled his guns and holsters from the inner pocket, and pointed to the bed. "Sit."

She complied, taking his weapons and setting them beside her on the bed, and watched as 47 closed the bedroom door softly and went about gathering the supplies needed to stitch up her arm. Her heart fluttered wildly, not at the prospect of the needle and thread doing its business (because hadn't she received her share of stitches due to Belicoff's handiwork?) but in anticipation of feeling 47's hand on her skin.

He pulled a small stool over to the bed from a corner of the room and positioned himself before her. His fingers went to work, undoing the tie wrapped about her arm and setting it aside on the bed. Nika grasped for it and held it in her hands tightly.

47 pulled his eyes to her momentarily before looking back to her arm.

He gently cleaned the dried blood from her skin with a warm, wet cloth, then sterilized a needle and thread by soaking the length of thread in a small bowl of alcohol and running the needle through the flame of a candle at a bedside table.

He brought his eyes to hers again. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.

Nika nodded and looked to the scarlet tie in her lap. 47's breath, warm and even, washed against her arm as he leaned forward and began the process of stitching the gash back together.

She clenched her teeth against the pinch and tug of the needle and thread, trying to focus her attention on the soft feathering of 47's fingers as he brushed against her skin. He made quick work of the process, knotting off the thread and taping a clean swatch of gauze over the wound.

His eyes, warmed and darkened from the soft lights in the room, met hers, sparkling in subdued triumph. "All done."

Nika smiled at him. "You're a pro at this."

"I've had enough practice on myself."

She blinked at him and realized then how dangerous his life really had been, how dangerous it always  _would_  be. But she also realized, without a second thought, that she didn't fucking care how much danger she might be in just by standing next to him, as long as she could spend as much of her life beside him as possible.

"Forty-seven, I'm falling in love with you." The words were out of her mouth before she even knew what was happening.

He had been bending in the chair to retrieve the first-aid items off of the floor and stilled. He slowly straightened and looked at her. Her heart was pumping so hard she could hear the roar of each beat in her ears as she awaited his response.

"Nika, I…" he began. But before he could finish, before he could tell her he either felt the same, as she was desperately hoping, or tell her that there was no fucking way he'd ever reciprocate, as she dreaded, there was a loud crash from the bottom floor and the sound of Olga shouting angrily. "Вы не можете просто баржа здесь!"  _You can't just barge in here!_

And only moments later, after the rapid thud of boots on the stairs, there was a thunderous banging on their bedroom door. 47 looked at her, an unrecognizable expression clouding his eyes, before he stood calmly and grabbed a pistol from the holsters lying on the bed.

He turned without a word and raised the gun. Walking to the door, he grasped the knob and pulled it open slowly, but not before casting that unreadable look at Nika once more.


	7. Chapter 7

47 paused with his hand on the doorknob and sighed resignedly, casting a quick look to Nika as she sat on the edge of the bed. She looked confused and surprised and embarrassed and hopeful all at the same time. He knew she deserved some type of response for her candid admission, but he had slightly more pressing issues that needed his attention at the moment. He turned his focus back to the bedroom door, listening closely to the voices filtering in from the hallway, and heard the distinctive lilt of a Scottish accent.

A sound akin to an irritated growl reverberated out through 47's chest. He flung the door wide, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned lightly against the doorframe, keeping his pistol tightly gripped in one hand. He stared straight into the grimly set face of Inspector Michael Whittier. "I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke, Inspector. What part of 'I hope I never see you again' did you not understand?"

Whittier grunted a humorless laugh. "I'm not here because I want to be." He rummaged in his pocket, produced a cigarette and placed it between his lips as the faint rumbles of an approaching storm sounded outside of the bedroom window.

47 glanced over Whittier's shoulder to the man standing behind him, as the Inspector patted his pockets in search of a lighter. 47 instantly recognized the man as Whittier's partner Inspector Jenkins. And from the looks of it, his arm had healed completely. Jenkins nodded almost imperceptibly and 47 turned his focus back onto Whittier. The Inspector sighed heavily in exasperation. "Have a light?"

47 stared at him incredulously. "No," he answered flatly. He stepped back to close the door. "If there isn't a reason that you need to be here…"

Whittier's hand shot out, stopping the door. "Wait." He looked to 47's eyes, weariness clearly evident on his face. "We need to talk."

"You and I have nothing to discuss." 47 moved to close the door again, but Whittier's hand stayed firm against it.

"We have been instructed to bring Nika up on charges of prostitution if you are unwilling to cooperate." His voice was low, serious.

A weight settled heavy in 47's stomach and he glanced over his shoulder to Nika sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide and fearful, his tie gripped tightly in her hands.

He looked back to Whittier, casting a menacing glare on him before stepping back and wordlessly opening the door the rest of the way. The Inspector nodded to his partner before moving into the room alone. A rattling crack of thunder resounded outside, followed immediately by a bellowing gust of wind that moaned through the eaves of the house.

47 closed the door and crossed the room quickly to stand between Whittier and Nika, his body beginning to thrum with barely suppressed rage.

"Say what you have to say and get out. I cannot promise Nika will be able to save you twice."

Whittier swallowed hard. "Interpol is investigating the derailment of the Krasnya Strela number nineteen and consequently, the loss of six lives, not including the four assailants equipped with teargas canisters and unmarked 9mm pistols."

"Oh god." Nika's voice behind 47 was a stunned whisper.

The Inspector continued, "We know that this sort of attack is not your style, Agent Forty-seven, but if you know which organization is behind this incident, you need to tell me right now."

47 scowled at Whittier, the free hand at his side curling into a trembling fist. "If I knew who was responsible for threatening Nika's life, there is no way in hell that you would have to worry that they would ever do it again."

The Inspector cleared his throat. "We are willing to offer you and Nika Interpol's protection for your cooperation in helping us to find the group liable."

47 barked out a harsh laugh and crossed his arms over his chest. "And if we refuse?"

Whittier's gaze flicked to Nika, who had moved to 47's left side - the look an unspoken reminder of his earlier threat. Apparently his 'cooperation' extended well past just allowing the Inspector into their room.

Nika stepped forward quickly, bringing up a finger to jab the Inspector's chest. "What gives you any fucking right to intimidate us like this?" 47 had to suppress a smirk; he was glad he wasn't on that side of the jabbing finger for a change.

Whittier's mouth hung open in shock as Nika continued her tirade. "I stopped him from killing you for chrissake!" She motioned her thumb over her shoulder at 47, then slammed her hands down on her hips. "The least you can do is leave us alone!"

Whittier slowly closed his mouth, clearly fighting to regain some of his composure. He scrubbed a hand roughly down his face and sighed. Reaching his hand up to the front of his coat, he plucked a business card from the breast pocket and held it out to 47. Nika quickly grabbed the card and stuffed it down the front of her shirt.

The Inspector raked a hand through his hair. "If you happen to stumble across any pertinent information, don't hesitate to give me a call." He left the room without another word, accompanied by a sighing gust of wind that splattered raindrops against the window at the opposite end of the room.

The door closed softly behind Whittier, leaving 47 and Nika standing in an almost uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the rapid beating of rain against glass.

47 glanced down to the crisp white bandage on Nika's arm as she stood before him and was soberingly reminded of how close he had come to losing her. That thought, combined with the fact that she still trusted him to keep her safe, that she had admitted that she loved him, nearly overwhelmed him. His heart began to beat wildly, erratically, and he swallowed against a throat that suddenly felt very dry. How could she still believe that he'd be able to protect her, after all he had put her through?

He had been trained to keep his emotions in check, and he had never, in all of his life, felt such a loss of that strict control. Emotionally compromised- it's the reason you failed to protect her; you're not thinking rationally. He shook the black thought away roughly. Nika gazed up at him, her brows knit together in concern. She brought her hands up to his face, but he turned away.

A sudden thought, heartbreaking in its clarity, occurred to him. "Whittier," he said hoarsely. The Inspector had extended Interpol's protection. Nika would surely be safer with them.

"What?" Nika tried pulling 47's arm as he quickly stepped to the bedroom door.

He threw a glance at her over his shoulder as he tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back, dimly aware that he was tripping into the beginnings of a blind panic, but was helpless to avoid it. "Whittier and Jenkins. They might still be downstairs."

He flung open the door and rushed down the stairs, brushing by a startled Olga holding the broken pieces of a lamp in her hands as he crossed through the sitting room. He could hear Nika dashing down the stairs as he stepped through the front door.

He was greeted by a brief, but bitter gust of wind as he stepped into the darkened street, and was instantly drenched in a biting downpour. He looked frantically up and down the road for any sign of Interpol's SUV's, fighting to catch his breath, but saw now trace of the vehicles.

"Fuck!" The word escaped his lips in an exasperated cry. He suddenly felt a hand on his arm and he whirled around, rain streaming coldly down his face.

Nika stood before him, her hair plastered wetly around her cheeks and forehead. "Forty-seven, you need to talk to me. Tell me what's wrong!"

He brought a shaking hand up and brushed water from his eyes as freezing raindrops continued to pelt them both. "It might not be too late to find Whittier and agree to Interpol's request."

Nika pushed her sopping hair away from her face. "What the fuck are you talking about? We just got rid of them!" She raised her voice to be heard over the unrelenting din of the rain.

47 gripped her upper arms and Nika winced as he inadvertently jostled her newly stitched arm. He abruptly released her and stepped back, his hands held up in surrender. "You're not safe with me, Nika. Interpol can protect you in ways that I can't. I'm an assassin, goddamn it! I trained to take lives, not save them!"

Gooseflesh pimpled the skin on Nika's arms as a breeze gusted up and she wrapped her arms about her middle. "How can you say that? You rescued me from Belicoff! Do you know what kind of hell it was to live in constant fear of that asshole? I don't want to go with Whittier, or Jenkins, or anybody. I want to be with you, Forty-seven. I love you!" she shouted over the storm.

His heart clenched painfully in his heaving chest and his hands bunched into fists at his sides. "There is no part of me that deserves your love, Nika!" he roared.

A heavy silence fell between them as they stood in the drenching deluge blanketing Luga; and for one heart-stopping moment, he was sure she was about to turn away from him, that she had finally realized as he had, that no matter how hard he might fight to keep her safe, he would ultimately fail –he literally had nothing to offer to her.

But she instead stepped forward, closing the distance between them to mere inches. She brought her hands up to his cheeks and looked up at him, even as rain ran into her eyes.

"You listen to me, and you listen good. My whole life I have been told what to believe, and now it's my turn to decide what's best for me. Do you know how it's possible for me to make that choice freely? You, Forty-seven. You are the reason that it's possible. And it's my right to decide who I love and why." Her voice trembled and she sniffled, but never removed her hands from his face.

47 swallowed around the hot lump in his throat and rapidly blinked water away from his eyes, not entirely sure that it wasn't his tears and not rain streaming down his cheeks.

Nika continued, "We both came from places that convinced us that we were unlovable, but you need to know that they were wrong; I love every part of you, even if you don't believe me."

She brought her lips to his slowly and pressed her rain-drenched body closely against him. And all the rage, all the feelings of inadequacy, all of the resentment at the ICA for forming him into nothing more than a killing machine, washed away as the weight of Nika's words finally sank in. He looped his arms around her waist, gathering her as close to him as possible. His rain-slicked mouth moved against hers hungrily, hopeful.

And even then, with Nika's admission of her love for him swelling his heart to near bursting, he could not let go of the nagging doubt that still clung to him, whispering darkly that while he may certainly be capable of compassion and desire and gentleness, he might never be capable of outright love, not the kind of love that Nika deserved. He pushed the thought away forcefully, wanting only to savor in the full feeling that she had given him.

A bitter puff of wind gusted around them as they embraced in the pelting rain and Nika began to shiver fiercely. 47 pulled back from her suddenly. Bright blooms of color tinged her pale cheeks and her teeth chattered together as she stood staring up at him, eyes wide. "Let's get you back inside, where it's warm," he said softly.

Nika nodded, a soft smile playing at her kiss-bruised lips as she entwined her fingers with his and followed him quickly back into the house.


	8. Chapter 8

Nika followed 47 back to their hotel almost blindly, shielding her face from the brutal onslaught of the pelting rain with one hand, keeping the other tightly secured in 47's grip. She held onto his hand like a lifeline, the warmth and security of his fingers wrapped about hers a desperately needed tether.

The wind had kicked up on their hurried walk back to the shelter of the hotel building; the fiercely bitter gusts seemed to snatch away any air she might have tried to draw into her lungs and she was panting and breathless by the time they stepped through the front door.

They stood hand in hand just inside the entrance, gasping for breath and sopping wet. Another bellowing gust of wind caught the door and slammed it shut behind them. An elderly couple lounging side by side on the sofa in the sitting room jumped and looked over at them, clearly startled. Nika felt a small but poignant pinch of sorrow spread briefly through her at the sight of them huddled closely together, knowing deep in her heart that she'd probably never grow old with 47, not with the kind of life they were now leading, with danger and uncertainty at every turn; and how long would 47 really put up with her? She had poured her heart out to him, had meant every  _fucking_  word she had said, and even though she had  _felt_ a return on those feelings in the way that he had looked at her, in the way he had kissed her, he had never really said that he loved her back, did he?

Nika was pulled from her thoughts when Olga bustled in suddenly from the kitchen, two large, fluffy towels bundled in her arms and quickly approached Nika and 47, sincere consternation wrought across her genial features. She tossed a towel to 47, who caught it deftly in one hand, and brought the other snuggly around Nika's shoulders.

"You two will catch your death of cold, standing out there in the rain!" she said disapprovingly. She rubbed the towel briskly against Nika's shivering frame then turned to 47. He looked at Olga, seemingly distracted, detached from the situation and lost in thought for a fleeting moment, before his face cleared and tugging Nika's hand and pulling her toward him, wrapped his towel about her shoulders too.

She looked up at him, his face, his lips, still slick with rain as a small smile curved warmly at his mouth. And she knew then, without a fucking doubt, that she was the only person – ever –to see the way he became so vulnerable, so  _unguarded_ when that sideways grin broke across his face. It was reserved for her alone. She had to fight very hard not to break into sobs then and there. She loved him more than she'd loved  _anything_  and she wasn't entirely sure he would ever really believe it, no matter how many times she might say it, no matter how many ways she may show it; he was programmed, hard-wired, to believe that he didn't deserve love, from her or anyone, and she didn't know if she would ever be able to convince him otherwise.

She blinked away the tears prickling hotly at the backs of her eyes and forced a bright smile to her trembling lips.

Olga huffed out an exasperated sigh beside them. Nika looked over at her and although her hands were sternly planted on her hips, there was humor in her eyes. Olga's gaze settled on 47; Nika swore she saw him flinch ever so slightly. "Timothy, you need to get this woman upstairs and into dry clothes before she catches pneumonia!"

47 stood staring at her for a moment, seemingly confused by the name Olga had used to address him. Nika bit back a chuckle, but couldn't help goading him a little, silently thankful to Olga for inadvertently lightening the mood. "Yeah,  _Timothy_ , I need help getting out of these wet clothes."

The look on 47's face was priceless- an uncharacteristic uncertainty widened his eyes momentarily and a pink blush washed up his neck. He quickly cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the floor. Olga tried bustling them toward the stairs with a wide grin, but 47 stayed rooted to his spot. He looked up slowly, cool and collected once more, stopping Olga in her hurried tracks.

"We have no other clothing options," he announced.

Nika felt her stomach twist uneasily- he was completely fucking correct. They had left St. Petersburg as quickly as they were able and had planned to buy clothes and general supplies at their first stop in Berlin. Their train's derailment had successfully changed all of their previous plans. Nika pulled the towels more tightly about her shoulders, hoping that she wouldn't be forced to sleep in her sopping wet clothes; if that were the case she'd just sleep naked.

A mischievous smile lit to her lips. The idea did hold a certain amount of appeal, considering the cozy size of the bed she'd be sharing with 47 tonight. And it wouldn't be the first time she'd slept beside the hitman naked, would it? Even though he had been on top of the covers, fully clothed, and as close to his edge of the bed as possible.

Olga held up a finger, obviously struck by an idea. "I have just the thing! Stay put for one moment." She scurried into the kitchen and out of sight.

Nika and 47 were left standing in the silence of Olga's sitting room with the elderly couple on the sofa watching them with great interest. Nika looked up at 47 as he gazed about the room, his eyes taking in every detail, but at the same time distant and deep in thought. She watched as he surveyed the sitting area, probably thinking about the best escape routes or readily available items that could be used as weapons, and she couldn't come up with a single thing to say to break the silence. It was not something that happened to her often. There was so much about him, about his past, that she wanted to know, but didn't have the slightest fucking idea of how to begin asking him. She was in love with him, wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, however long or short that time may be, and she knew next to nothing about him.

She heard Olga hurrying back through the kitchen toward them and wondered if they would ever have the opportunity to learn more about each other, or if 47 would even be  _willing_  to share any parts of his past with her.

Olga appeared in the sitting room, holding a neat stack of clothes in her arms. "A few of my previous patrons have left clothes behind after they checked out. You are free to use these until yours have dried." She handed the bundle to 47, who nodded a silent thanks. "There should be plenty of hot water available if either of you would like a shower," she added as they began to head to the staircase.

Nika moaned appreciatively, earning a curious sideways glance from 47 as they walked to the stairs. She couldn't help the pleased giggle that escaped her lips on their way up to the third floor.

She stepped into the room after 47 and cast a longing glance toward the washroom. A steamy, hot shower sounded marvelous after being drenched in an icy deluge for who knew how fucking long and the only thing she could think of that would make it even better was for 47 to join her.

Her gaze slid back to him as he stood beside the bed, having just placed the borrowed clothes on the flowery coverlet. The significance of the look she had given the washroom was not lost on him. His eyes were dark and intense in the soft light of the room and she took the hungry flash sparking there as an open invitation. She sauntered forward, as sexy as was possible with her clothes wrinkled and clingy, and her hair still partially damp and a little wildly windblown, and dropped the towels from her shoulders to the floor when she was less than a handbreadth before him.

She snaked her hands up his chest, feeling only a dull pinch from the new stitches on her arm, and looped her hands behind his neck. Her heart rate tumbled into a not-so-steady increase when his lips parted slightly on an exhale as he looked down at her. An indecipherable expression clouded his features briefly, but was soon dismissed when she felt his hands lightly latch onto her hips, felt his fingers grip a little tighter as she brought her body flush against his, her cold, wet dress pressed against her own heated skin an added thrill in all of it.

He dipped his head down at the gentle insistence of her hands at the back of his neck, and slanted his mouth over hers tentatively, his lips moving with only the slightest bit of hesitation before he began kissing her in earnest. And that's all it took for her to draw back, that one fraction of a second of uncertainty when their mouths came together. He had been distracted since they had gotten back into the house and she hadn't really realized it until now. Something was obviously bothering him and she did not feel comfortable taking things any further with him when he was so distant, when his emotions weren't fully in it. She wanted so badly for their first time to be special, with the both of them present and sincerely invested, especially since she knew well enough how it felt to just go through the motions, how it felt to just fuck with no regard for your own damned heart. And so she pulled back from his kiss even though it left her feeling so bereft, even though her body literally ached to be filled by him.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at her, his pupils blown wide with arousal and slightly unfocused, slightly confused, and it was all she could do not to pull him back in for another kiss. She instead loosened her hands from his neck and slipped them to his cheeks.

"Tell me what's bothering you," she whispered pleadingly.

He sighed, bringing his hands up to loosely hang from her wrists and half-heartedly tried pulling away from her.

"When I asked you to keep me informed, I didn't mean  _just_  our plans for the day. Tell me what's worrying you; maybe I can help," she ventured softly.

His eyes searched her face for a moment before he replied, "I have never been afraid of anything in my life; I've never had any cause to be. But I am afraid now- afraid that I won't be strong enough to protect you, or that there will be a time when we are separated and I will not be there to keep you safe." He huffed out a shaky breath and tears gathered in his eyes. "I could not bear to lose you, Nika."

Her heart, broken almost irreparably by Belicoff's cruelty, began to knit itself back together at 47's words, at the idea that he  _needed_ her. And although she knew her heart might never be fully repaired, that it would always carry scars from her time with Belicoff, she held out hope that 47 would help her get it as close to mended as was possible.

"I couldn't bear to lose you either, Forty-seven," she said, her voice wavering slightly. She stretched up on her toes and pressed a warm kiss to his mouth. She pulled back and looked to his eyes, slowly dropping her hands from his cheeks. "But if I have you as my personal-defense teacher, I know I'll be capable of protecting myself no matter where I am. I might even learn to kick ass better than you," she finished playfully, earning a small smile from him.

Her hands found their way into his, so strong and warm, and she squeezed gently, suddenly feeling weariness creep over her from the day's ridiculously fucking excessive amount of excitement. She pulled her hands from 47's to cover a largely unattractive yawn. He looked down at her and chuckled lightly. She laughed a little too because, 47 chuckling? She hadn't thought that was something he was able to do, and it was completely fucking adorable.

He turned to the bed, still smiling, and began to rummage through the stack of clothes Olga had given him and soon produced a long, silky nightshirt covered in a pretty flower print.

"Are you sure that's for me?" she asked, playfully quirking an eyebrow.

47 looked down at the nightgown in his hands, hesitating for a moment, then looked up again, holding it out toward her. "Fairly certain."

Nika smiled at his unerring frankness and slipped the gown from his grasp. She peeked over his shoulder to the other clothes on the bed. "And what have  _you_  got?"

He picked up a pair of black cotton drawstring pants off of the bed, along with a white shirt proudly exclaiming: "Владимира Ресторан - Обслуживание лучший квашеной капусты Москве с 1992 года!"  _Vladimir's Restaurant- Serving Moscow's best sauerkraut since 1992!_ in bold, red lettering.

"Lucky me," he murmured and tossed the clothes back on the bed before reaching up to quickly unbutton his dampened shirt.

Nika's mouth went dry as he pulled it from his shoulders and stepped to a chair beside the bed to lay it over the back, trying to smooth out as many wrinkles as he could before the shirt might dry. He was oblivious of her watching him as he went about his task and so she let her eyes drink him in greedily. His skin, still damp from the rainstorm, gleamed at the strongly cut muscles at his broad chest and down his stomach. Her heart began thumping wildly when she noticed the faint line of dark hair running a ways down from his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.  _Boxers or briefs? Boxers or briefs?_ Her mind went wild with the possibilities.  _Nika stop!_  She scolded herself firmly.  _Wait until the moment is right, wait until it's special._ Oh god, how would she know when it was right? How long would she have to wait? She wanted to run across the room right now and just grab him by his-

"Did anyone teach you that it's not polite to stare?" He spoke without even looking over at her, a repressed smirk playing at his lips and breaking her from her devilish thoughts abruptly.

She blinked rapidly, feeling a warm blush wash her cheeks, and realized her mouth was hanging open slightly. She snapped is shut and turned on her heel toward the washroom so quickly that she threw off her balance and stumbled a bit as she stepped to the door, her silky nightgown still gripped tightly in one hand.

Nika heard 47 chuckling lightly as she closed herself in the small washroom. She leaned her back against the door and let out a deep sigh.  _And now for the next order of business: a nice cold shower…_


	9. Chapter 9

A small smile quirked up the corner of 47's mouth when he heard the shower running in the washroom. And how could he even try  _not_  to smile, remembering the complete mortification on Nika's face when he had caught her staring at him so blatantly? Especially when  _he_  was the one that became so easily flustered at her overtly sexual comments and touches. The tables had been turned, if only for a moment, and 47 took much satisfaction in it.

He brought his hands up to unbuckle the belt at his trousers, when he heard the faint sounds of melodic humming coming from behind the bathroom door. His fingers stilled in their work at his waistband and he canted his head to the side, listening intently to the sweet sounds of Nika singing in the shower. His mind helpfully supplied an image of what she might look like, standing completely bare under the water's spray, and his slacks almost instantly felt a little tighter.

He shook his head lightly and began unbuckling his belt, still slightly baffled at why Nika had pulled back from the kiss they had been sharing only a few moments ago. She always seemed so eager, always so ready to tease, and he had been, in that moment,  _very_  ready to take what she was offering, even if he had been rather anxious in hoping that Nika wouldn't notice that he was completely uneducated in the act of sex. Well, not  _completely_  uneducated- he knew what went where, but there was a certain amount of  _finesse_ required that he assumed was learned only through doing.

47 quickly divested of his trousers, laying them carefully over his shirt on the back of the chair beside him. He then peeled down his black, still-slightly-damp undershorts and draped them on the chair's armrest, feeling only somewhat embarrassed that Nika would most definitely notice them there, but not really seeing any other option. He stepped into the drawstring pants Olga had given him, relishing for a moment, the soft feel of the cotton against his bare skin, before grabbing up the shirt from the bed. He frowned at the garish red letters across the front and smashed it into a tight ball, tossing it on the seat of the chair with a bemused grunt. There was no way in  _hell_  he'd be wearing that if he could help it. Surely Nika would have no complaints if he went without a shirt for the night.

The water in the shower shut off suddenly, as if she had somehow heard his thoughts and he smiled, knowing that she had probably wished many times that she actually  _could_  read his thoughts, judging by the number of times she had begged him to tell her what was bothering him. He was, in a way, amazed by how perceptive she was of the subtle shifts in his emotions, especially when he was only just beginning to understand and experience them for the first time.

He did have a firm grip on the feeling of 'grateful' though, and he thought it the perfect word to describe how he felt to her for calming his fears about her safety. His mind had been all but consumed with worry over the thought of losing her in some way, and she had brought back his focus by simply reminding him that with attentive training, she'd be fairly capable of protecting herself, should the need arise.

He brought his pistols over to a small table in the corner of their room, intending that her first lesson would be in the cleaning of the weapons, if she felt she was up for it after such a harrowing day. He looked over when he heard her open the washroom door and swore his heart damn near stopped beating when he saw her stepping into the room.

A soft cloud of steam puffed out behind her and she had her hands up in her hair, her fingers deftly combing through the damp strands as her eyes slipped closed. The silk nightgown Olga had given her fit perfectly, the length of it falling to the tops of her feet, a generous slit running up one side all the way to her thigh, the smooth fabric hugging her curves softly, flawlessly. His cock twitched in utter appreciation at the sight as he sat at the small table, his pistols and cleaning kit laid out before him, untouched, forgotten.

She opened her eyes and slowly lowered her arms to her sides, smiling when her gaze connected with his, the pure sincerity of it crinkling the corners of her eyes, making the dragon tattoo on her cheek dance for a moment. She had washed the last remnants of her makeup away, and 47 felt like he was seeing Nika for the first time- the real Nika, the one that she had tried to hide from the world with her heavy makeup and distracting clothes. Why she would want to do that, he did not know, but suddenly felt a strong desire to ask, to learn as much about her as he was able, and to learn it more thoroughly than any mark he had ever researched.

She padded over to him, curiously glancing at the table beside him, even as she brought a fist up to her mouth to cover a yawn. "What've you got there?" she asked.

47 could plainly see weariness on her face, though the guns lying before him clearly interested her. It would not do to begin her lessons tonight, tired as she obviously was; she would not retain any information. He had learned from a very young age that a rested mind was a priority, especially when it required focus in order to learn a new task.

He looked up at her when she came to stand next to him, and felt his breath catch in his throat temporarily when she laid her hand on his bare shoulder. "It was to be your first lesson-the disassembling and cleaning of guns," he replied when he was able to speak.

She pulled her gaze from the weapons to look at him. "Well, let's get started." She made a move to sit in the chair beside him, but he instead stood, gently grasped her hand and led her across the room to the bed.

"Perhaps tomorrow morning. You need your sleep, Nika."

"But I'm not tired," she pouted, and looked so much like a child refusing bedtime that he couldn't help but smile.

"Tomorrow," he promised, turning down the covers and helping her into the bed.

"Okay, fine." She smiled up at him sleepily and rolled over onto her side. She was asleep almost before he had returned to the table where his guns lay. He switched off the bedroom light after flipping the desk lamp on at his improvised workstation and sat down in the small circle of light cast around the table.

He was soon lost in the ingrained task of methodically disassembling and cleaning his weapons, his head nodding tiredly once or twice as his hands moved over the well-worn steel.

His mind was so far away in thought that he didn't hear Nika behind him until just before her hands came from the darkness to slip warmly down his bare chest. His heart knocked heavily against his ribcage when he felt her lean over his shoulder and press a kiss to the side of his neck, felt the soft press of her silk covered breasts against his back. He was instantly hard.

Her hands roamed over his chest, his stomach, and then her lips parted and he felt her breath wash over the curve of flesh connecting his neck to his shoulder just before her teeth grazed his skin in a teasing bite. He groaned as she quickly soothed the mark with a wet kiss.

"Nika," he panted her name and tried turning in his chair.

"Shh."

She held him in place gently but firmly, and dipped one hand slowly, so slowly, under the waistband of his cotton pants. His head fell back against her shoulder as she bent behind him, his mouth slack and open, moaning weakly as her hand wrapped around the straining length of him. He planted his hands on the table before him and bucked his hips up sharply, driving into her tight grip, overcome with an aching need that was blinding in its instantaneous demand for completion.

"Let me," she whispered breathlessly against his cheek, one hand trailing lightly across his belly as the other pumped his cock. Her thumb swiped over the head, smearing through the precome already dribbling there and 47 had to consciously bite back the moan rising in his throat. Nika's lips found his shoulder again and her tongue swirled over an old scar. 47's heart pounded as her hand worked faster over his dick, twisting up over the shaft on every other upstroke. His fingers twitched where they were planted on the table before him- this was far more than his brain could fully process. Nika continued the ministrations of her mouth and her touch and after only two more pumps of her fist he was coming undone, spilling warmly into her fist with a hoarse shout.

47 sat up with a gasp, jostling the small table before him and knocking a bottle of gun-barrel lubricant to the floor, disoriented and half-asleep. He looked around frantically, desperately willing his heart to slow to a normal rate, his mind gradually clearing at the realization that it had been a dream. A goddamn  _dream_. And a vivid one at that, he thought to himself, glancing down to his still slightly tented cotton pants. It had all seemed so  _real_.

He quickly turned in his chair, half expecting Nika to be standing behind him with a playful grin on her face, but only saw the darkness of their room. He peered into the shadows, barely making out her form, bundled under the blankets on their bed and shifting slightly in her sleep, before he turned back to the table again.

He drug a hand roughly down his face and sighed. His guns and cleaning kit lay in a disarray before him, and for once in his life he just wanted to leave it there, wanted to just worry about it in the morning. But the ICA's rules, taught to him from such a young age and so repetitively that they were permanently ingrained into his character, ultimately won out and he resignedly organized the materials before him, then once again began to dutifully clean his weapons with a impeccably careful precision, not finishing his task until well into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

Nika woke slowly, blinking against the early morning sunshine filtering in through the drape-covered window beside the bed. She drew in a deep breath, releasing it in a contented sigh as she rolled onto her back, feeling more rested in that moment than she had ever felt before and wanting nothing more than to lay in the bed just a little bit longer, to relish in the quiet surrounding her.

In all of her time with Belicoff, she had very rarely ever been afforded a calm, peaceful morning. Belicoff had always been overly fond of the night life and had constantly dragged her from one shitty disco to another, often times until the pre-dawn hours, and so she had always tried to take advantage of the mornings he was passed-out drunk to sleep in, though she was never really able to, not with the constant fucking influx of people, security guards, body doubles, crooked politicians, wandering noisily through every damn apartment they had ever stayed in.

And so she savored the quiet, lying still for a moment, before turning onto her right side and propping herself up on her elbow. She smiled when she saw 47 bundled under the blankets a short distance from her, his bald head and barcode tattoo barely visible under the thick comforter. Her smile turned into a full grin when she heard him snoring softly. The fact that he was actually sleeping  _under_  the covers, combined with the fact that she was awake before him tickled her in an indescribable way; she counted it as a small victory, that he was finally comfortable enough with her that he was able to sleep beside her,  _under the blankets,_  and, from a quick peek under the sheets, only partially clothed.

She suppressed a pleased giggle and scooted her way off of the bed as soundlessly as possible. He must have been up much later than her last night if he was tired enough to be still asleep, as she knew him to be an unfailingly early riser.

She decided to let him rest, and quietly made her way to the washroom. She found her black dress and underclothes to be dry and dressed quickly, trying her best to smooth her hair into some semblance of normal, before stepping back into the room, her feet still bare. She was instantly drawn to the wonderful scent of brewing coffee drifting into the room from downstairs.

After a quick glance to the bed to confirm that 47 was still asleep, Nika slipped quietly through the door and followed her nose to Olga's kitchen. She found the moderately sized room quietly empty and awash in a pleasant 7 am morning light. A basket of muffins sat beside a bowl full of assorted fruits on top of a round breakfast table situated in the middle of the kitchen. A coffee pot percolating happily on one of the counters quickly grabbed her attention and she made her way across the room, finding a cluster of mugs beside the pot, along with a handwritten note stating "Кример и молока может быть найден в холодильнике"  _Creamer and milk can be found in the refrigerator_. She picked a mug that held the picture of a kitten tangled in yarn with a thought-cloud over its head, remarking "I hate Mondays!" simply for the fact that looking at it made her smile.

She grasped the coffee pot and poured the still-steaming brew into her cup and leaned against the counter for a moment, holding the mug close to her nose, breathing in the delicious aroma of a perfect dark roast. She took a few tentative sips and glanced about the room, noticing a door in the corner of the kitchen that led outside, propped open to allow the refreshingly cool air, washed clean by last night's rain storm, to breeze in. She padded to the doorway, her mug grasped warmly in her hands, and peeked out.

Olga sat at a little wrought-iron table in a small, cobblestone courtyard, sipping from a mug and looking over a newspaper. She glanced up and smiled at Nika, putting her paper down on the table and motioning Nika over.

"Good morning, dear!" she exclaimed.

Nika walked over the smooth stones and sat across from Olga at the small table. "Good morning," she replied. "Thanks for the coffee." She took a generous sip of the slightly cooled liquid.

Olga smiled brightly. "It's what I'm here for." She glanced down to Nika's bare feet and frowned. "You really should be wearing shoes, dear."

Nika smiled at Olga's well-meaning mothering. "They're not quite dry yet."

The housekeeper nodded slightly, taking a drink from her mug. She slowly set it back on the table and brought her eyes to Nika's, apprehension suddenly evident on her face. "Can I ask why you were out in the rain last night? I normally don't pry –my patron's business is their own, but I am concerned, with the men that were here, that you and Timothy might be in some kind of trouble."

A small wave of guilt washed over Nika and she sat back in her chair, focusing her gaze on the mug in her hands. She and her hitman had brought Olga into their mess simply by being under the same roof and she wondered bitterly if there would ever be a time where they wouldn't put others in danger just by being around them.

She puffed out a pent up breath and brought her eyes up to Olga's. "I'm sorry we dragged you into this. We should be moving on sometime this afternoon." She cast her eyes down again.

Olga reached her arm out and laid a warm hand on Nika's where it rested on the table. Nika cast her a questioning glance. The older woman's brows were knit together, a small worry line wrinkling between them. "I'm not worried about me, dear. I haven't made it this long by cowering at the first sign of a threat. I'm concerned for  _you_. Those men last night meant business, and not the kind of business you want to be tangled in."

Nika suddenly felt tears begin to well in her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time someone had really cared about her well-being, well anyone but 47, and his way of caring could be somewhat methodical, robotic, even if his heart was quite adorably in the right place. Nika never had a mother-figure to look up to as a girl; it had been just her and her father up until about the age of thirteen, and after he had passed away, she didn't have  _any_ one to look up to, didn't have anyone around that gave a shit whether she lived or died. And now, here was this woman who had known her for less than twenty-four fucking hours and  _still_ legitimately cared for her.

"All I've ever wanted was a normal fucking life," she whispered hoarsely, embarrassed to feel tears beginning to slip down her cheeks.

Olga squeezed her hand gently. "There, there, dear," she said softly. "No one said you and Timothy had to leave today. Why don't just stay here? Luga is a wonderful place to settle down in, to start over in. You would blend in just fine, you would be safe here."

Nika smiled weakly at Olga's slight misunderstanding of her tearful wish. "That's the thing though, Olga. My normal life is just within reach –land of my own, a safe place to call home," she sat forward, grasping both of Olga's hands in her own, "It's just the 'getting there' that is proving to be difficult."

Olga smiled sweetly in understanding and gently patted her hands. "I'm sure with a nice strong man like Timothy at your side, you'll get there just fine." She sat back in her chair, grasping her coffee mug once again, just as Nika dried her eyes and did the same. "Do you two have protection?"

Nika nearly choked on the coffee was swallowing. "I, uh… Protection… We haven't really…" she fumbled every type of sentence she tried forming.

Olga chuckled lightly, her eyes shining with mirth over the edge of her mug as she took a sip. "Yes, protection. Guns, weapons?"

Nika laughed outright at her own misinterpretation. "Fort- uh,  _Timothy_  has two guns that I know of. He was actually going to teach me how to use them today, once he wakes up I guess."

Olga nodded, taking another sip from her cup. "I have a small pistol that my husband left after he passed. It would be the perfect size for you; you're free to have it."

Nika sat in stunned silence for a moment at Olga's unrelenting kindness. "You really don't have to do that," she said softly.

Olga only smiled. "It's what I'm here for dear."

Nika was about to respond with her thanks, when the rapid thud of someone coming down the stairs at full-tilt sounded from within the house. She turned just in time to see 47 charging through the back door, wearing only his black drawstring pants, his panic stricken face quickly turning into a frightening mixture of barely concealed rage and euphoric relief when his eyes locked on hers.

She stood as he strode purposefully across the small courtyard to her, her heart suddenly beginning to thud heavily in her chest. "Forty-seven, what's wro-" Her words were abruptly cut off by his lips crushing against hers as he wrapped his arms tightly about her.

He suddenly held her back at arm's length. She tried miserably to catch her breath. "Please don't ever leave again without telling me where you're going," he said roughly. "I didn't know," he paused to take a deep breath, swallowing visibly, "I didn't know where you went."

Her heart dropped through her stomach. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I only wanted to let you sleep in. I didn't mean to…"

He huffed out a shaky breath and pulled her in to his chest tightly, locking her arms down to her sides as he embraced her. She could feel his heart thumping wildly under her cheek, feel the slight slick of light perspiration on his skin. "Please don't ever leave, Nika. Please don't," he choked out desperately.

And in that moment, she knew, with more certainty than she'd ever felt, that she needed him just as much as he needed her- that they needed each other, that they would  _always_  need each other.


	11. Chapter 11

47 held onto Nika tightly for a moment longer as they stood in Olga's tiny courtyard, the feel of her in his arms grounding, essential to his sanity, and nuzzled lightly into her hair, taking in its sun-warmed scent. He felt his heart gradually returning to a normal rate as he held her and chided himself bitterly for his blindingly swift and utter loss of control at finding Nika's half of the bed empty this morning.

Panic had gripped him so completely that his chest had literally ached as he shot out of their bedroom, searching for her. He had been filled with such an eclipsing helplessness and anger as he bounded down the stairs that he never stopped to consider that Nika had left the bed on her own accord. The only dominating thought in his head had been that someone had snatched her away from beside him as he slept, and he would stop at  _nothing_ to find her, would not hesitate to dole out brutal justice to whoever was responsible. Seeing her sitting and chatting calmly with Olga had confused the ever-loving hell out of him and he was swamped so rapidly and completely with a deluge of unfamiliar emotions that he hadn't really known what he was saying until he'd said it, didn't know what he was doing until he'd done it, and by then Nika was somehow wrapped in his arms and he was panting for breath.

She shifted under his hold, snapping him back to the present. Her muffled voice floated up to him. "I love you, Forty-seven, and I'm sorry I worried you, but I can't really breathe right now."

He released her abruptly, alarmed that he hadn't realized how tightly he had been gripping her. She stepped back from him, her deep brown eyes solemn, which was a completely confusing contradiction to the impish smile curving at her lips.

"Guess I shouldn't let you sleep in anymore, huh?" she asked, still smiling.

He closed the distance between them with one step and brought his face down near hers. "It is not something to take lightly, Nika," he said sternly, his voice low and even. "The people that are tracking us will not hesitate to kill us both, and for that reason alone, it is  _imperative_  that you tell me before you plan on leaving my side."

Fire sparked in her eyes and she tilted her chin up defiantly. "But it's okay for  _you_  to just walk way without a fucking word, like back at the train?" She pursed her lips, awaiting his answer.

Frustration coursed through him and he stepped back from her, sighing heavily. The deliberate rustling of papers caught his attention and he glanced over Nika's shoulder, seeing Olga looking pointedly at her newspaper, feigning ignorance of the situation. He had completely forgotten she was sitting there; he should have been vigilantly aware of every aspect of the courtyard instead of being so absorbed with the woman before him.

He looked back to Nika, his hands fisting at his sides in agitation. How did she continue to distract him so easily? And lately, it seemed that she did more than just distract him. His emotions were so beyond his ability to rein them in at times, and he was absolutely certain that it was Nika's presence that was the cause. She was always on his mind, in his dreams; so consumed with her was he that he damn near lost his mind when they were apart from one another. He did not have the proper experience to know how he might control his emotional outbursts, as he saw them to be, but he  _did_  have years upon years of ingrained training in the utilization of cool, detached impassiveness, and since he did completely grasp how the two ends of the spectrum might be balanced, he opted for the more familiar of the two. Indifference would be most beneficial in maintaining his focus, in heightening his awareness, both of which were essential to the completion of his objective of seeing Nika to the vineyard safely.

He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep, calming breath, then rolled the tension from his shoulders and opened his eyes again.

Nika stood staring at him, her hands on her hips, that look in her eye that said she'd be bringing her jabbing finger up at any moment. He looked past her to Olga, who had been watching them with a sudden interest.

"We'll be checking out within the hour," he stated, the barest hint of inflection in his voice, his tone broking no argument. Olga gave a stunned nod and quickly moved from the table to the house.

47's gaze settled back on Nika, who stood staring at him, her mouth slightly agape.

"What just happened?" she asked cautiously, the fire in her eyes suddenly doused with wary skepticism.

"I informed Olga that we will be checking out shortly," he said plainly.

"No…" She drug the word out a bit and 47 could practically see the wheels turning as she tried sorting out the change that had just taken place. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. "You changed. It's like you just shut down or something."

He gazed at her for a moment before speaking. "You need to be ready to leave by 8:30." He turned to enter the house, commending himself for remaining calm and for not being affected by the crestfallen look on her face as he stepped to the back door.

"Now wait a minute! Forty-seven, stop." He heard the irritation in her voice behind him just before her hand grasped his shoulder and tried to pull him back.

He instantly stilled, viciously fighting the urge to slip into hand-to-hand combat, to grip and break delicate wrist bones, to bring his assailant to their knees.  _That's not an assailant, it's Nika for chrissake!_  the 'feeling side' of him roared desperately as he warred with himself for control.

She must have felt him trembling under her touch because she quickly released him. "Can you just look at me? We need to talk about this."

He turned slowly, his face falling into an emotionless mask. "There's nothing to discuss," he said evenly.

"Yes there is," she persisted. "We agreed that you would keep me informed, that we would make decisions together. And what is wrong with you? It's like you reverted back to the way you were when I first met you." She peered up at him carefully.

"You saw no reason to inform  _me_  that you were going to be leaving the bedroom this morning, so it appears that our agreement has been voided," he replied coolly.

An angry blush crept up her cheeks. "I am not your hostage, Forty-seven!" she shouted, tears glittering harshly at her eyes. "I shouldn't have to tell you every  _fucking_  time I walk away from you, just because you're so insecure about  _yourself_  that you think I'm leaving you!" She glared at him, her chest heaving.

47 fought to keep his composure, fought against the welling and unsolicited anger and heartbreak that threatened to spill out from him.

"My primary objective is to see you safely to the vineyard and I can only do that if I know where you are at all times."

"What the fuck are you…'Primary objective'? I thought we were past all this secret agent bullshit Forty-seven!"

 _It's the only way I can protect you, Nika!_  He wanted to scream the words at her.  _I cannot keep you safe with my emotions constantly getting in the way!_

He instead swallowed back his hurt and squared his shoulders resolutely before replying evenly, "We are leaving at 8:30"

He turned his back on her, on the angry tears streaking down her cheeks, and walked into the house, the gun handling and target practice lessons he had planned for the day completely forgotten.


	12. Chapter 12

Nika dashed hot tears from her cheeks as she watched 47 disappear into Olga's house. She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw stubbornly, huffing out a shaky breath through her nostrils. He was a damned idiot if he thought she would just follow behind him like a well-trained puppy. She would wait there in the courtyard until 8:29 just to spite him. And if he thought she was being obstinate and childish for doing so? Well then, fuck him.

She was  _furious_  at him for presuming to think that she would just be okay with asking him for permission before she went off alone. Didn't he understand that was exactly how she had been forced to live under Belicoff's control, under the control of every other man she had been passed around to? She had thought that on some level 47 knew what kind of life he had liberated her from, thought that it was a similar controlled existence that he  _himself_  had been fleeing from, judging from only the briefest snatches of his childhood that she actually had to go on.

She heard him stepping down the stairs inside the house, and caught a glimpse of him through the kitchen doorway, wearing his black suit and moving toward the front of the house, before drying the last of her tears and walking into the house.

She still wasn't quite ready to face him, especially when she was a little afraid of what she might shout at him with just the slightest provocation. She wrapped her arms about herself as she stepped through the kitchen, guilt lancing through her coldly as she remembered the split-second of crushing pain that had slipped across his face when she had accused him of being insecure in his ability to keep her by his side. She'd regretted the cutting words almost as soon as they'd left her mouth, having only reacted in the heat of the moment, lashing out to get the upper hand in an argument that should have never taken place. She knew they were both at fault, knew that 47 was only trying to keep her safe, but the way he had fucking  _ordered_  her to comply just did not sit well with her. And she worried, for about the millionth time since the Forty-seven she had grown to love had closed his eyes as he stood before her and opened them only a moment later as  _Agent_  47, contract killer, why the change had taken place, and if it was permanent. Would she ever see the human,  _feeling_ , side of him again?

She walked to the foot of the stairs and looked over to the opened front door, seeing him standing on the porch, his back to her, no doubt counting down the minutes until their departure time. She fetched a heavy sigh and climbed the stairs, suddenly feeling emotionally drained as the last of her anger dissipated and was replaced with an indescribable apprehensiveness- a profound surety that she might not be able to coax any type of intimacy from him ever again, sexual or otherwise.

Nika trudged up to the third floor and found their room immaculate, the bed made, towels picked up from the floor, the clothes Olga had let them borrow folded and stacked the armchair's seat, the first aid supplies used to stitch her arm nowhere to be seen, and 47's red silk tie dishearteningly absent; she knew he had most likely removed any evidence of them actually having had been there. The only items remaining were her high heels, set neatly side-by-side at the foot of the bed. She stepped into the shoes and walked back to the door. She hesitated with her hand hovering over the knob, wondering if she should be careful about not leaving fingerprints behind, after it seemed that 47 had done so much to make sure the room was spotless, then realized she didn't really give a damn; if he was so fucking concerned about it he could come back up here after she'd already gone down the stairs and inspect the room to his heart's content- that was his prerogative, not hers.

She sighed at her own bitterness and quietly exited the small room.

Olga was waiting for her when she made her way to the bottom of the stairs. She held out a small leather pouch to Nika, her eyes somber. "If only we had more time to get to know one another better." Her voice wavered slightly and unshed tears glistened at her eyes. She pulled in a breath before continuing, "But I wish you the best of luck in your travels, and hope you get the normal life you've always wanted."

Nika nodded and blinked back the tears blurring her vision, peering into the pouch Olga had given her. There was a small pistol nestled alongside an extra clip and a handful of bullets in the bag.

She looked back up to Olga in surprise. "Are you sure you want me to have this?"

"I want you to be able to protect yourself," she said, casting a quick glance to where 47 stood on the stoop. "Dear, you know you are more than welcome here, whenever you need a place to stay."

Nika smiled her thanks, understanding Olga's slight mistrust of 47 after she had witnessed their argument and its awkward conclusion in her courtyard just a short time ago.

She pulled the older woman in for a warm, reassuring hug. "He's a good man, Olga. He'll protect me as best as he knows how," she said softly as they embraced.  _He'll protect me even though he's shut me out, he'll give his life for me even as he denies me his affection,_ her mind whispered darkly in return.

She shook the thought away as she stepped back from Olga slowly. "Thank you for everything," she said earnestly.

"It's what I'm here for dear," Olga replied, quickly wiping a tear from her cheek.

Nika quickly made her way to the front door before she lost her resolve, before she might have had a chance to decide to stay in Luga forever, instead of continuing her journey to her vineyard in France.

A sudden, frightening thought occurred to her as she stepped onto the porch beside 47. She looked up at him, noticing that he had put his tie back on, absently wondering how he was able to clean her blood off of the delicate silk without ruining the material. She drug her eyes back to his face.

"I lost the deeds to the vineyard when the train derailed. I'll still be allowed onto the property, right?" she asked, suddenly nervous that nobody would believe that the land belonged to her, now that she didn't have the papers in hand.

47 was peering up the street and at first she wasn't sure he'd heard her until he brought his hand up and tapped the breast pocket on his suit jacket, seemingly seeing that as answer enough, then wordlessly stepped down the concrete stairs to the sidewalk.

Nika swallowed back her irritation, not wanting Olga to see them locked in another conflict, after she had just tried convincing her of 47's merit, and followed him down to the street.

They walked in the clear, fresh sunshine of a mild midsummer morning in absolute silence for about two blocks before she just couldn't stand it anymore, her obligingly quiet annoyance at his utter indifference coming dangerously close to boiling into outright fury.

She abruptly stopped walking and slammed her hands down on her hips, tapping her foot in agitation, wondering how long it would take for him to realize that she was no longer following right behind him. She mentally counted out three steps before he stilled and slowly turned. His face was carefully emotionless as he stood looking at her.

"Listen, Forty-seven, I know you're mad at me," she began, amazed at how even her voice sounded, seeing how her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped hummingbird, "But, you're being really unfair right now. Can you at least just tell me where we're going?"

He stared at her, his hardened expression softening minutely, and for one hopeful moment she thought he'd break into that sideways grin, reach out and pull her against him, plunder her mouth in a soul-baring kiss, but that was only so much wistful thinking.

He straightened slightly and smoothed his tie down his chest against a soft breeze that ghosted by them. "Olga mentioned a large, secluded field a short distance from here that would be suitable for a lesson in gun handling," he stated evenly before turning and beginning again towards their supposed destination.

Nika felt her spirits lift a little; she'd been looking forward to his weapons handling instruction since he'd mentioned it last night.  _Now, if I could just try not to shoot the bastard for being such an incredible ass, I'll be fine,_  she thought moodily, following behind him with a just the tiniest snarl curling at her lip.


	13. Chapter 13

47 stepped into the seclusion of the field Olga had mentioned with Nika following closely behind him. They had slipped through the brush surrounding the clearing unobserved and he suspected that, with the location lying on the easternmost and rural side of the town, they would leave the field in the same manner.

He stopped for a moment to observe the meadow, to decide which direction would be suitable for target practice; trying his best not to look over at Nika as she stood beside him, trying his best not to be distracted by the way the gentle breeze tousled softly through her hair. He turned to the side to block her from his peripheral vision and looked out over the land surrounding them.

The clearing was approximately fifty yards in diameter with thick trunked oaks and bramble brush ringing the outer perimeter, effectively shielding them from unwanted observers. Swaying sweetgrass blanketed the ground, its soft rustling the only sound audible in the quiet of the meadow; no birds lent their song to the steadily warming morning. A fortunate turn in that there would be no creatures scrambling to take wing at the sound of gunfire, suppressed though it was. They did not need to visually alert any others of their location.

He turned back toward Nika slowly, steeling himself for whatever expression she might be wearing. If it was anything like the look she had given him earlier, when she had pointed out that he was being unfair, he knew his hard-won resolve would be broken. It had already been splintered quite effectively by that dejected, wounded look she had cast upon him; any more and he knew he'd be powerless in restraining an unacceptable outflow of emotion. Attempting to maintain impassiveness on the walk from Olga's house was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had only wanted to turn and pull her into his arms and apologize and return things to the way they had been. But if detachment was necessary in keeping her safe, keeping her  _alive_ , then it was a burden he would bear without complaint, for as long as he was physically able.

He brought his gaze up from the ground, where he had been inadvertently staring, and centered it on Nika. She stood before him, a surprising study in poorly concealed eagerness, such a welcome reprieve from the anger and heartbreaking doubt she had been silently communicating to him all morning, that he was taken aback for a moment. And then he remembered her blatant delight last night in hearing that she'd be receiving firearms instruction. Her excitement was rather infectious and he had to fight against a sudden surge of anticipation at the thought of passing his knowledge of gun handling on to her.

He suppressed a smile and unsnapped the Silverballer on the left side of his chest from its holster with a smooth, practiced ease, then held the gun flat in his palm, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hand, outstretching it into the space between them.

"This weapon has saved my life on more than one occasion, and has been a constant companion when there were no others around me that I could trust."

Nika reached her hand out tentatively and feathered her fingers over the well-worn steel of the gun barrel, the movement inexplicably sending shivers up his spine. She pulled her hand back slowly, and 47 swallowed hard. She dipped down for a moment, setting a small leather pouch in the soft grass at their feet, before straightening again.

Her gaze was riveted to the gun as it lay in his hand, and he pointed out the safety, trigger and hammer. Then, palming the pistol in a light grip, he showed her how to operate the clip release.

"The Silverballer can hold .45 caliber rounds at eight rounds per clip," he said, holding it up for her to see the bullets stacked neatly atop one another inside. He drove the clip back inside the butt of the gun with a click before handing it to her.

Her hands dipped at the unexpected weight of it. She looked up to him with the barest hint of a smile at her lips, her eyes wide in surprise. "It's heavy."

47 nodded stoically, fighting the urge to smile back at her. "It will become less unwieldy with practice," he said evenly. He turned to point at a rotted tree ten yards from where they stood, the total height of it topping out at about six feet. "Begin acclimating yourself with the weapon by firing it at your target."

He flicked the safety off and showed her how to chamber a round. "Widen your stance," he instructed. "The kickback may throw your balance off at first."

"I could do without you ordering me," she snapped.

He looked at her, surprised at the abrupt fluctuation in her mood. She kept her eyes locked on the tree and he suddenly understood that he was standing on a knife's edge with her- something had changed between them, not irreparably perhaps, but one small misstep and he knew she may be lost to him forever.

He swallowed against a slowly rising anxiety before speaking. "I know no other way to teach you."

"You could at least say please," she said, flicking an icy gaze at him.

"Widen your stance. Please," he acquiesced, never taking his eyes from her.

She did, begrudgingly. He stood at her side and watched as she lined up her sights, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in concentration. His heart rate spiked up a notch at the sight, and then her finger settled over the trigger.

She squeezed the shot off, stumbling back half a step at the recoil, the bullet embedding itself in the dirt two feet before the tree. She let out a pent up breath.

"You need to keep your eyes open so you can see what you're shooting at," he pointed out.

She looked over at him. "My eyes  _were_  open."

"No they weren't," he countered. "You shut them right as you pulled the trigger."

She narrowed her eyes. "They were  _open_."

"If that were the case, you'd have at least hit the target. Try again. Please."

She glared at him then turned back to the tree. Her hands came up, leveling the gun with the target, her bottom lip caught up in her teeth again.

He wished it were  _his_  teeth biting at her lip.

His breath lodged in his chest and he let out a strange strangled noise at the erratically errant thought just as Nika was about to pull the trigger. She jumped at the unexpected sound, the bullet flying wide right.

"What the fuck was that?" she asked, turning her head to look at him, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

He cleared his throat and smoothed down his tie, absently running his fingers over the small patches of her blood, hidden on the backside of the material and ingrained so deeply into the fabric that he had been unable it wash away, while desperately willing away the warm blush on his cheeks.

"You need to learn to shoot accurately even when distracted. Your level of focus in high stress situations is directly correlated to the amount of damage you inflict on your opponent."

Nika scoffed out a humorless laugh, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "It would help if I could hit the damn target at least  _one_  fucking time." She frowned, the despair and frustration she was feeling clearly evident on her face.

And that was all it really took for his carefully constructed wall to break, to crack into a million shattered pieces: the honesty and openness in every  _single_  emotion she felt, unabashedly shown to anyone she came in contact with. She was vulnerable and so very exposed in it, but still so unrelentingly resilient, so intensely fearless.

An unfamiliar spark of hope started a slow burn somewhere deep inside of him. And it was then that he realized that they both relied on each other; he lent her his protection, his devotion, she gave her love to him freely, and fervently encouraged and embraced his newfound humanity. They drew strength from one another in very different ways and he knew he was going to need all the strength Nika had to offer, or at the least willing to give, to help him find the balance between unfeeling and an utter outpouring of emotion. He needed her to help him find his way back to the way he felt when 'I am  _more_  than I once was' played strongly in his mind.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest at the realization, and he clenched his trembling fingers into a tight fist. He waited until the tremor passed before moving toward her.

"Here, let me show you," he said softly, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms about her shoulders, his hands grasping hers and pulling the gun up again.

"Widen your stance. Please." He pushed his thigh between hers, spreading her feet a suitable distance apart, feeling his heart skip a beat in response to the soft gasp she drew. He moved his head down beside hers to find her line of sight, their cheeks nearly touching.

"You need to see the weapon as an extension of yourself," he said. "It is a part of you and will act instinctively on your behalf."

He felt her nod slightly. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath." Her chest expanded in his arms for a long moment before she let the air out on a soft sigh.

"Now, open your eyes," He let his hands fall from hers, before brushing his mouth against the soft curve of her ear, whispering, "and fire."

The bullet hit its mark high on the trunk, dead center- a perfectly executed kill shot; he did not try to restrain a pleased grin.

Nika became an ungrounded livewire, hopping excitedly before him. She turned quickly, beaming a bright smile. "I hit it!" she exclaimed.

But as her gaze settled on him her whole countenance changed, became eerily somber. She stilled, his gun, still clasped in one hand fell limply to her side, and for one excruciating moment he thought that he'd lost her permanently this time, not even knowing what he'd even done to push her away.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest and the grin on his face suddenly faded.

She closed the distance between them and looked up at him, her deep brown eyes full of something he could not name.

"You're back," she whispered wonderingly. They were the only words she spoke before suddenly launching herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck, his pistol falling to the grass almost soundlessly, bowling him over with her unexpected force.

Her mouth was on his before they even hit the ground.

He landed flat on his back with a grunt, desire quickly fogging his brain, vaguely surprised that she was able to take him down so easily, when many others had literally died trying.

Nika fell right on top of him, the impact driving out whatever air he may have had left in his lungs, her kisses making it impossible for him to drag in any more. His hands came up, one winding around her back, the other tangling in her hair, holding her tightly against his body as if she might disappear, as if this was simply another dream that he would wake from at any moment.

She drug her hips up against his hardening erection as she moved her legs to straddle him, her skirt bunching high up on her thighs. He broke his lips from hers to let out a low, breathless groan.

Nika hummed appreciatively and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. She pushed up from him with her palms flat on his chest, the movement applying an agonizingly perfect friction to his cock where it tightened against his trousers and stood stiffly at the crux of her thighs.

47's trembling hands fell to her hips, fingers gripping tightly as he looked up at her. Bright sunlight shone behind her, outlining her in a soft glow, the light heating her already warm brown eyes. The hunger he saw there sent desire coursing straight to his groin.

Her lips creased in a slow, sensual smile. "I don't know where you went, but I'm glad you're back. I've been wanting to do this for a long,  _long_  time." He sucked in a sharp breath when she rocked forward slightly.

"B-back?' He had a hard time forming the word and could not even begin to process where she had thought he might have gone with such a demanding arousal clouding his thoughts.

"Mhmm. Earlier this morning. It was like you just got up and left." She continued to rock her hips against him, building an aching tension low in his belly. She smiled again. "But now you're back –the Forty-seven I fell in love with."

She curled her body forward, kissed his mouth, his jaw, his neck, while her fingers worked at rucking his shirt up from his waistband, the sudden feeling of her warm skin on his stomach sending an electric current of need through him. His fingers gripped at her hips hard enough to bruise, not knowing where else to put his hands.

It was all too much; too much to feel, too much to understand. "Nika, please," he whispered hoarsely, begging for more, begging her to stop, he really had no idea at this point.

She glanced up at him as her well-practiced fingers undid his belt, the button at his trousers, smiling wickedly. She laid a deep, wet kiss at his mouth before sitting up again, pulling down his zipper, working his cock free.

His heart stopped, he swore it did.

And then she moved down his body. He craned his neck up to see where she had gone a fraction of a second before her mouth came down on his dick, warm, slick, perfect. He threw his head back, teeth clenched, hips bucking up. She moaned around him, sending vibrations through every inch of him.

Pressure coiled tightly in his groin as the wet heat of her mouth moved around his cock. The world around him began to fade out, and just before he was lost in it, her mouth was gone.

He groaned his frustration, eyes closing tightly, his ache for completion burning fiercely.

She moved back up his body, brushing her breasts against his chest, the sensation heady and undeniably feminine. "Look at me Forty-seven."

His eyes snapped to hers and he swallowed hard. "I love you no matter what. I will follow you to the ends of this fucking earth. You asked me to never leave you, and I'm asking you the same. Please."

He nodded, knowing that he never could. He'd die before he'd ever allow himself to be apart from her again, physically or mentally. She  _loved_  him for fuck's sake, which was more than any other person he'd ever come in contact with had bothered to show an inkling of, not counting the ones at the business end of his weapons.

She smiled sweetly, then reached her hand between them, grasping his cock gently and guiding him to her. Keeping her eyes focused on him, she lowered herself onto him in one swift move.

He cried out, arching his back, driving his hips up instinctively. He hadn't been entirely sure what to expect, but this was more, so much more than he had even imagined. She was hot and wet and such an incredible fit for his straining length.

And then she began to move, a rhythm his body was more than willing to keep pace with. She grasped his shoulders tightly, just as his hands continued to grip her hips, her breath hitching unevenly as he moved to thrust into her. The world began to fade at the edges with the feeling of the pure bliss of it all and he felt the increasingly immeasurable pressure of release, but his mind suddenly fought for some sort of coherent control.

He was instantly torn between two very different types of instinct in that moment, caught between  _accept, claim, fill_  and  _attack, subdue, overpower_. He stilled, closed his eyes tightly, unsure of what to do.

Nika leaned close to him, her hips still moving, his cock still embedded within her. She brought her mouth next to his ear, and he felt her warm breath wash against his skin in a broken stutter. "It's okay, Forty-seven, I'm here. It's okay to let go," she breathlessly whispered the words with an undeniable sincerity.

He was undone.

47 bucked his hips sharply, his hands fisting into the material at Nika's hips, holding her still against his body as waves of sensation crested violently through him and he spilled into her. She moaned at his ear, gripped tightly at his shoulders, the clenching pull of her muscles around his cock drawing out more than he'd known he could give.

She collapsed on his chest, her heart pounding wildly against his, and he drew his hands from her hips to gently frame her face and pull her lips up for a kiss. Her mouth curved into a smile and she pulled back and laid her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly.

He wrapped his arms about her tenderly, kissing her temple, trying to catch his breath, more fulfilled then than he could ever remember being.

And then a familiar ringtone drifted up to him from the cell phone in his jacket pocket, and his world seemed to come to a complete and utter stop. Diana.


	14. Chapter 14

Nika jerked her head off of 47's chest, startled from her contented afterglow by the sudden chiming ringtone of a cell phone. She hadn't even known he had one.

She pushed up from him as he reached into his jacket to pull the phone from an inner pocket, noting the barely checked surprise on his face. Seemed that he had forgotten he even  _had_  a mobile. She moved off of him gingerly to kneel in the soft grass, smoothing her dress, straightening her panties.

She looked down to 47 lying beside her and couldn't help but smile as he tried to work himself back into his trousers with one hand while his other fumbled to answer the incessantly ringing phone.

Nika chuckled softly and brushed his fingers away from his slacks, righting him gently and pulling up his zipper. It was something she had done countless times before with men whose faces she barely even remembered, but this time it was so very different; she was doing it for a man she loved and cared deeply for. She just hoped that one day he'd realize that he deserved every ounce of love she was offering to him. And even though she knew, knew deep down in her heart, that he would do anything for her, that he felt as strongly for her as she did for him, in his own quietly stoic way, she wondered a bit sadly if 47 would ever be able to _voice_  his feelings to her. But really, how important were those three little words, 'I love you'? She didn't really know- no one had ever said them to her and really meant it.

47 cast her a grateful look before standing and answering his mobile. Nika kneeled in the grass a moment longer, shaking her disheartening thoughts away resolutely before she stood and made her way to him to help brush the bits of dirt and grass from his suit jacket as he listened tensely to the phone pressed to his ear. He was back now, and that was all that mattered, right?

"Diana," he said in a warning tone.

Nika's hand stilled in plucking a long piece of grass from his jacket. Diana? 47 had never mentioned another woman, had never mentioned  _any_  names to her in all honesty, and even though he had told her so very little about himself, she thought that he'd have at least mentioned another  _woman_. An unfamiliar feeling of jealousy burned sourly through her and she brushed dirt from his shoulders a little rougher than was necessary.

47 didn't seem to notice. "Diana, no, just stop and listen to me." He stepped away from Nika and rubbed a hand down his cheek before dropping it to his side and curling it into a tight fist. "It's me and Nika together or not at all. I appreciate your help, but I will not be separated from her."

Nika smiled in smug triumph.  _Take that Diana whoever-the-fuck-you-are._

47 maintained his rigid stance, his back to her, listening to Diana's reply.

"Fine," he conceded, tersely ending the call.

He shoved the phone back into his jacket pocket, but not before jamming his middle finger up to the bright, cloudless sky in the universal gesture of fuck you.

Nika could not restrain a pleased grin; seemed she might be rubbing off on him.

47 tuned to her, huffing out an exasperated sigh, and cast her an apologetic smile when his gaze settled on her.

"Who was that?" she broached slowly, stepping forward to begin tucking his shirt back into his slacks.

He looked down at her, the frustration from the phone call draining visibly from his eyes as she buttoned his pants for him. A small half-smile lit to his lips.

"Diana. She's my handler.  _Was_  my handler," he quickly corrected.

"What is a handler?"

"She was responsible for providing me with intel and in-depth background information for all of my contracts when I was employed with the ICA."

"And she's up there?" Nika asked, nodding her chin in the direction 47's finger had jabbed at the sky.

He chuckled lightly and straightened his tie, his fingers seeming to linger on the back of it for a moment. "Not exactly. She has access to the Agency's satellites and was finally able to lock onto our location."

Nika's heart jumped up into her throat and she looked about the field nervously. "The ICA knows where we are? But we were being unpredictable!" she cried, remembering 47's first rule of evasion.

He looked slightly baffled for a moment before his expression softened and he brought a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb across the tattoo on her cheek; a move she now understood was his way of comforting her. Her heart fluttered at the far too fleeting touch.

"Diana is working against the ICA in this instance. She is risking a great deal, the least of which is her career, to help us. I trust her implicitly."

Nika felt that jealousy well up again at the unmistakable sincerity in his tone. "But it sounded like she wanted to separate us," she reminded him, blinking back the tears pricking hotly at the back of her eyes, somehow forcing the quiver from her voice.

47 pulled his gaze from her and bent to retrieve his gun from the ground where she had dropped it when she had tackled him. He straightened slowly. "She has been covertly following the Agency's internal communications concerning you and me quite closely since I went rogue." He brushed dirt from his weapon and clicked the safety on before settling it back in its holster under his jacket. "They had a difficult time pinpointing our locations until the train derailment yesterday. Diana said that the ICA has dispatched agents to Luga, and she feels that we would be much harder to track if we leave the area separately."

Nika swallowed around the hard lump in her throat.

47 stepped closer to her, until their bodies nearly touched, and looked down into her eyes, his voice low and sure, "I will not allow us to be apart, Nika, no matter what threatens us, no matter what obstacles we may face. We are strongest when we are together. Diana knows that now."

He pulled his hands up to gently frame her face and slanted his lips across hers. The reassurance in his words, in his kiss, effectively washing away the anxiety threatening to overwhelm her.

He stepped back slightly, ending the kiss sooner than she would have liked, and brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "We need to start moving on as soon as possible. Diana informed me that there is a car rental agency at the south side of town that will loan us a suitable vehicle that we can take to Berlin. We can decide what our next move will be once we arrive there. Is that acceptable?"

Nika nodded, a small smile curving at her lips. "It is acceptable."

47 grinned and small wrinkles fanned out at the corners of his eyes. "We have a small window of time to obtain a vehicle and be on the road before any agents arrive. Diana will continue to monitor the ICA's activity and alert me if they come too close."

He was already turning to make his way to the edge of the field, when a sudden, embarrassing thought occurred to her.

"Was Diana watching just a minute ago, when we were, uh, making love?" she called after him, a warm blush rising to her cheeks.

She heard him chuckling lightly, and felt her blush deepen when he tossed his answer over his shoulder as he sauntered away, "Yes, and she said she liked what she saw."


	15. Chapter 15

47 squinted against the glare of strong early afternoon sunlight filtering in through the windshield of the late model Audi they had obtained from the rental agency in Luga and pulled the visor down to block a majority of the blinding light as they made their way toward Berlin.

He glanced over to Nika in the passenger seat as she fiddled with the radio dials, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she focused on her task. 47's fingers tightened reflexively on the steering wheel, remembering the soft press of that mouth against his, the warm pull of it on his cock. A hot blush warmed his neck and he reached up to loosen his tie. Nika glanced at him, then back to the radio, a knowing smile curving her lips.

They had been on the road for nearly three hours and it didn't seem that she had found a station that she liked in all of that time. She turned the dial until it stopped on the last numbered station, seemingly satisfied, then settled back into her seat, her fidgeting hands finally coming to rest on the sandwiches in her lap as a classic American rock song drifted out of the speakers. They had stopped a few kilometers back at a small roadside café for lunch-to-go and 47 was currently scanning the road for a suitably concealed pull-off where they could stop and eat for a moment.

"Have you ever been to the United States?" Nika asked, shifting in her seat to look at him.

It was about the hundredth question she had asked since they had started driving. And although he was willing to answer honestly, there weren't many questions he actually had answers  _to,_ thanks to the ICA.

_Favorite present he had ever received for his birthday?_

Birthdays were never recognized as days of any significance, and he had only just recently discovered that his was on September 5th, though Diana could not find any information on what year.

_Favorite movie?_

There were no forms of entertainment allowed to him as a child, and as an adult had not had time between contracts to visit any theaters- not that he would have had any desire to, had the opportunity actually presented itself.

_Chocolate or vanilla ice cream?_

He had never tried either and so had no preference.

_Cats or dogs?_

Pets were strictly forbidden in the Agency, though he did have one dim memory of a white rabbit. But if he had to choose, he'd say cats, if only for all the attack dogs that had ever been sicced on him during his hits.

_Have any brothers or sisters?_

No sisters, but many brothers; none that he knew on any type of personal level, however.

_When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?_

That question had given him reason to pause.

"As in a career path?" he had asked.

"Yeah, like a fireman? Or a doctor?" Nika had helpfully supplied.

"I had been taught from a very young age what my purpose was, and that purpose was not to be questioned."

Nika had fallen quiet then and a heavy silence had hung between them until this most present query. He glanced over at her looking to him expectantly, sunlight and shadow from the passing trees dappling across her face.

"America?"

She nodded.

He looked back to the road, spotted a dirt and gravel pull-off not twenty yards ahead and slowed the car in anticipation of the turn. "I've been contracted to a handful of states for various jobs, but have not traveled there extensively."

"That's a hell of a lot better than me," she said looking out the window as 47 eased the car down the side-road, behind a secluding screen of trees. "This is the farthest I've ever been outside of St. Petersburg."

47 parked the car in a small grassy clearing and glanced to Nika as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I've never traveled by my own choice," he said quietly, and understood for the first time that it was entirely true; he had always gone where he was told, obediently, unquestioningly.

Nika gathered the sandwiches in her hands and cast him a look full of regret. "And it was always by someone else's choice that I never could."

They exited the car and settled on the sun-warmed trunk. Nika passed him his lunch and before she unwrapped her sandwich to take a bite, he held his up, suddenly remembering a toast he had seen a group of business men deliver at one of the restaurants he had scoped one night.

"To new beginnings," he announced solemnly, holding this sandwich aloft.

Nika's hand froze on her plastic wrapper, her head turning slowly to look at him.

And burst out laughing. She laughed until tears were streaming from her eyes and she was rocking back on the trunk, her arms wrapped around her middle.

The joke, whatever it might have been, was completely lost on him. Not that it mattered; it was worth it, just to hear Nika's laugh- a soft, lilting giggle that soon became breathless with a few endearing snorts thrown in.

He couldn't help but chuckle a little himself.

And in that moment, with their laughter winding together and filing the small clearing, with the sunlight falling warmly about his shoulders, with Nika smiling brightly beside him, he realized that he was genuinely happy. The number of times that he could honestly say that he ever had been were few enough to count on one hand- and Nika was at the center of each and ever one of those moments. He had saved her life that night he had taken her away from Belicoff and she had saved his by taking him away from the darkness that his life had become.

47 smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closely to his side. She made a surprised sound at the move but quickly settled against him, her hip pressing warmly at his as they began to eat.

Nika finished shortly before him, folding what was left of her sandwich in its plastic wrapper then hopped off of the trunk excitedly.

"I almost forgot!" she exclaimed.

47 watched, brushing a few stray crumbs from his jacket lapels, as she quickly moved around to the passenger door. She popped back around to where he still sat, holding a small leather pouch in her hands.

"Olga let me have it. She said her husband left it to her."

47 opened the bag, smelling the comforting and familiar scent of gun oil drifting up to him, and peered inside. His eyebrows lifted slightly, impressed by what he saw: A 1990's model Makarov PM glinted dully from a bed of loose 9.3 mm rounds with an empty, spare 8 round magazine nestled beside it.

"Will you show me how to use it?" Nika asked, standing before him.

He slid off the trunk and pulled the compact pistol from the pouch. "We'll have to see if it's fireable."

He turned it over in his hands, confirming that the safety was on, and let out an amused grunt. He held the weapon out to Nika and pointed to the small insignia etched into the gun's dark metal body.

"Looks like Olga's husband might have been a member of the KGB."

Nika's eyes widened fractionally before a grin spread across her face. "No shit," she said in amazement.

47 nodded, smiling, then released the clip. It was fully loaded. He set the magazine aside and pulled the slide back gently making sure there were no rounds already chambered, then inspected the barrel. It was well oiled and impeccably clean.

"This weapon has been well-taken care of," he remarked, "and will fire accurately. I wish we could use it for target practice so you could get a feel for it, but with this size caliber and from this location, the shot will most likely be heard for miles."

Nika nodded her understanding then accepted the gun when he handed it to her. She followed his instructions to load the gun again and chamber a round. He then had her load the spare clip with the loose bullets in the leather pouch.

"A weapon that is loaded and  _ready_  will exponentially increase your chances of survival over one that is not."

"Obviously," Nika smirked, replacing the gun in its bag.

They made their way back to the car doors and settled into their seats. Nika looked over at him as they buckled their seat belts, an impish spark in her eyes. "Maybe I can get a thigh holster for it."

47 surprised Nika and himself by boldly reaching his hand over and brushing his fingers along the soft skin on her leg, just under the hem of her short black dress. Nika's breath hitched when he drug his fingers a little higher, and his own seemed to catch in his throat, feeling the smoothness of her skin on his, as he pictured the exact placement of the holster.

He drug his eyes back to hers, swallowing hard. "I think we can find one that will be suitable," he said hoarsely.

He wanted to move his fingers higher, wanted to explore and learn and commit to memory every sound she made, every subtle shift in her facial expressions that his roaming hands would evoke, but when he glanced out the passenger window and saw the lengthening shadows being cast about the small clearing he reluctantly pulled his hand back and turned the ignition over.

Nika blew a breath out between pursed lips and slumped back in her seat.

"We need to get back on the road. The sooner we reach Provence, the better," he said softly, his tone apologetic, as he eased the Audi back onto the main road.

Nika buckled her seatbelt and looked out her window at the passing landscape. "The sooner I get you into a  _bed_ , the better," she muttered.

47 grinned and fished in one of the inner pockets of his jacket for his mobile. He tossed it to her lightly without taking his eyes from the road. "Use the GPS and find the nearest hotel along this route," he said, only half joking.

Nika went to work, furiously tapping at the cell phone's buttons.

/

They found that the nearest hotel was not very near at all- 48 kilometers to be exact, and farther than the gas in the Audi's tank would take them presently.

47 pulled the car into a small roadside petrol station forty-five minutes after they had eaten lunch, and parked beside one of the two pumps.

"Will you pay while I fill the tank?" he asked, then handed her a small stack of bills when she nodded.

He climbed out of the vehicle and made his way to the side of the car to where the fuel door was located, carefully scanning the petrol station and the thick wall of trees that surrounded it on the backside, as Nika walked the short distance to the building.

"Want me to get you anything to drink?" she called to him, her hand resting on the shop's door handle.

47 shook his head and she entered the store as he continued to peer around the perimeter. There were no other patrons at the station, and no movement in the vicinity, but still it seemed that something was not right.

And then it hit him- it was far too quiet, even for the relatively secluded area of their location. There were no birds singing, and even the wind sighing through the pine trees surrounding him seemed to have stilled in an uneasy anticipation.

He had his Silverballers drawn even before he heard the faint snap of a twig far behind him.

He shouted for Nika as he turned, guns drawn, heart pounding heavily in his chest, but she was nowhere to be seen. His stomach lurched sickly as he moved to level his weapons in the direction of the snapped twig, desperately tamping down the mindless panic threatening to overwhelm him, feeling the enveloping cold of his instincts beginning to take control.

_Neutralize the threat, secure Nika, get the hell out._

He moved to step forward, cocking his pistols, but before his foot had even lifted from the ground, he felt the sudden, sharp bite of a tranquilizer dart embedding into his neck. He fell to his knees weakly, and spoke one word before his world went black.

_Nika._


	16. Chapter 16

Nika had just reached the petrol station's cashier counter at the back of the small store, smiling politely at the man behind the counter, when she had heard the sound of 47 outside shouting her name. It was not the type of cry that needed her attention because he had forgotten to ask her to buy him a pack of gum –it was full of desperation and panic. She froze for a full two seconds and her wide eyes swept to the man behind the till, horrified that she had pulled another innocent person into the middle of her unpredictably dangerous life, as she had with Olga.

The man, with a close cropped beard darkening his jaw, a deep red scarf knotted loosely at his neck, and broad, angular shoulders fitted inside of a black military-style jacket, flashed her a menacing smile before deftly leaping over the counter.

Nika could make no sound of surprise; her breath seemed stuck somewhere in the middle of her chest. She took a step backward, having at least enough presence of mind not to turn her back on the man, who advanced on her with an agile, cat-like grace.

She continued to step back, mind whirling with her options, viciously cursing herself for not paying more attention to her fucking surroundings like 47 had always told her, when she stumbled over her own feet, falling hard on her ass.

The man chuckled darkly and wrenched her to her feet with a strong hand under her arm. He pulled her so close to his face, she could smell the cloying scent of clove cigarettes on his breath. She forced herself not to gag.

"You'll tell us where the ICA's headquarters are located," he shouted, the words thick with an accent she could not place. He squeezed her arm painfully, awaiting her response.

"I…I don't…" she began, sputtering the words in her panic.

The man shook her roughly, hard enough for her teeth to clack together as her head snapped back.

And for just a moment, all of the pain and humiliation and terror she had felt at the hands of Belicoff came rushing back, reminding her that  _now_  she had a choice –because of 47 she could now choose to refuse to be treated in such a way ever again. Her whole body tensed in the man's grasp and she did the only thing she could think of to get away: she clawed at the side of his face with her free hand, leaving four long gash marks down his cheek, and as soon as he released her to bring his hands up to his bleeding wounds, Nika grasped the man's shoulders for leverage and kneed him in the groin as hard as she could. He crumpled to the ground immediately, in a flurry of words shrieked in a foreign language.

She quickly sidestepped the man, making for the emergency exit at the back of the shop as quickly as her legs would carry her.

She pushed the door open cautiously and peered out. There was a small slab of concrete that served as a patio with two trash bins and a lawn chair set off to the side. Evergreens formed a thick wall where the concrete stopped. The small area was completely clear.

She opened the door all the way and began stepping out. A loud crash resounded from inside the petrol station, right behind her, and she jumped, clearing the threshold and slamming the door behind her. She dashed into the cover of the forest, running as fast as she could in her high heels. Long, bare branches clutched at her clothes as she ran, a few slashing sharply at her cheeks, and still she ran, ran until each ragged breath she drew burned into her lungs.

She could see a thick, green bush a little farther ahead and willed her trembling legs to take just a few more steps. She dropped to her knees and scrambled as far into the bush as she could, her heart beating frantically, her breath coming out in harsh pants, straining her ears for the barest hint of sound, be it her pursuers or 47.

_Oh, fuck_. He was okay, right? She had been so afraid for her own life that she hadn't thought to look out the front window to even try to catch a glimpse of him before she ran. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she clapped her hand over her mouth to cut off the pitiful sob that threatened to escape. What would she do without him? He had to be okay. He knew more about being stealthy and easily escaping high stress situations than she could ever hope to understand. He was probably on his way to get her now, to pull her into a strong, reassuring embrace. Right?

Nika wiped at a tear rolling down her cheek when she heard the sound of tires squealing on pavement from a distance, then waited a few moments longer in the utter silence of the forest before drawing in a steadying breath and crawling slowly out of the brush. She looked around quickly before standing and making her way back in the direction of the petrol station on unsteady legs.

The afternoon light was already beginning to fade as Nika walked past the line of trees at the back of the station. She crept as quietly as she could around the side of the building, keeping her back firmly against its rough brick wall, as she had seen 47 do on more than one occasion –except in all those times, he had had a gun held firmly in his hand, and she was, presently, unarmed. Her heart sank at the thought.

She swallowed back her rising panic and peered around the corner to the front of the station where 47 had parked the car to fill up on gas. The car was still at the pump, but all of its doors were flung open, and from the look of the various papers and personal effects strewn about the parking lot, it had been ransacked.

Nika found a small stone by her foot and tossed it as closely to the car as possible without moving from the side of the building. She counted out five seconds, waiting for the loud crack of a gunshot, but none came.

She was, in that moment, well and truly alone. Forcing back tears, she stepped to the gas pumps and began looking through the Audi for any clues as to were the attackers had taken 47. And then she remembered her gun, the gun Olga had given to her as a heartfelt gift. If the men who had taken 47 had found it, she'd be completely and hopelessly fucked. She knelt beside the car, on the passenger side, and drug her hand under the seat, as far back as she could reach. Her fingers brushed on the soft leather of a gun bag.

"Ha!" she cried out in her excitement, then quickly snapped her mouth shut and ducked down, startled by the volume of her own voice in the sheer silence of the small parking lot. She tugged the gun bag free and rummaged through its contents, then stuffed the full extra clip into a pocket on her dress. She brought the gun up in her hands; the weight of if felt right in her grip. She just hoped, that if it came down to it, she'd be able to actually pull the trigger. She straightened her back as she knelt beside the car and squared her shoulders resolutely. If it came down to saving 47's  _life_ , she knew she'd do what she had to.

Holding the gun in one hand, Nika went through the vehicle, then made her way around the gas pumps and parking lot, trying to find any clues,  _anything,_  that would tell her where to even begin. And she knew that the longer she spent looking, the farther 47 was moving away from her.

Her hands began trembling so violently in a flood of despair that she almost dropped her gun. She tightened her grip on the weapon, forcing herself to focus.  _What would 47 be doing right now?_

Her mind instantly flashed to lying in the gently windswept field with him earlier, hearing the strong, steady beat of his heart as she rested her head on his chest , feeling the warmth of early summer sunshine on her back, her body happily satiated in a way she hadn't ever known. The memory was so vivid she almost burst into tears, miserably certain she'd never see him again.

And then she remembered, almost just as strongly, that 47 had a cell phone and that he had given it to her when they were looking for a hotel. She patted her pockets frantically, finding it in the last one she searched.

A sign of relief poured from her lips. She moved around the Audi, closing all the doors as she went, then slumped down in the driver's seat, setting her gun on the dash. She opened the call log on the mobile and found only one number listed; an incoming call from this morning, denoted by a single word:  _Handler_.

Nika swallowed around a dry lump in her throat and pushed the redial button. A crisp, professional female voice, dripping with a dignified British accent answered on the first ring.

"Forty-seven, I've been picking up some alarming activity. What's your…"

"This is Nika," she interjected before Diana could go any further.

There was a long pause. "Where is Forty-seven?" Diana asked, her tone still calm and collected. Nika wanted to scream.

"I don't know," her voice trembled and she cleared her throat, "That's why I called you. I need your help."

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened." Nika could hear the faint tapping of computer keys in the background.

"We stopped to get gas and a man in the shop attacked me. I got away, but when I came back, no one was here.  _No one._ " Her voice broke and she brushed at the tears blurring her vision. "Can you just use your satellites and tell me where they're taking him?"

The tapping of keys continued softly. "I don't think that's…"

"Please," Nika sobbed, "Please, just tell me what  _direction_  they went so I at least know where to fucking start!"

Silence from Diana's end and then, "The vehicle they used is parked outside of a large building, possibly an abandoned warehouse, fifty kilometers south of your current location. I'm sending the coordinates to the mobile's GPS."

Nika tucked the phone against her shoulder so her hands would be free to start the car with the keys that were still dangling from the ignition, thank Christ.

"Nika, listen," Diana said, her voice serious and imploring, "The building doesn't seem to be very well fortified, but the men guarding it are likely to be well-trained, especially if they were able to subdue Forty-seven. You'll be entering a lethal situation if you do this."

Nika took a deep, shuddering breath. "I know. But I can't live without him and I'll do anything I can to find him. He'd do the same for me."

Diana sighed, almost inaudibly. "I'm going to call in a favor to a group of mercenaries that are in your area. They'll infiltrate and sweep the building. Just try to stay out of the way."

Nika's heart fluttered with relief. "Thank…"

Diana hung up before she could finish.

Nika pulled the phone back from her ear, scowling at it for a moment before scrolling through the programs to the GPS option. She set a route to 47's location then peeled out of the parking lot, sending up a rooster tail of gravel as she maneuvered her way onto the road that would take her to the abandoned warehouse.

/

Nika pulled the rented Audi up to a curb a block away from the building Diana had indicated just as the last light of the day was fading into a hazy purple twilight. Large, dilapidated buildings loomed up gray and dingy on either side of her as she exited the car. She moved into the shadows along side the wall of the building closest to her.

_Keep a low profile_ , she reminded herself.

She drew in a deep, steadying breath and pulled her gun up in her hands. Moving forward down the deserted side street and keeping as close to the rough, bricked wall at her back as possible, Nika slowly made her way to the end of the block.

She peered through the steadily darkening evening to the warehouse across the street, eyes searching desperately for some sort of inconspicuous entrance, when a small team of men, four in all, and dressed completely in black, appeared at the mouth of a shadowed alleyway beside the building and began to creep toward the fire escape anchored to its side. Nika instantly recognized them to be the mercenaries Diana had mentioned. They moved so stealthily that she knew that had she not been searching the face of the building so intensely for an entrance, she would not have seen them at all.

She watched, unmoving, as they began scaling the wrought-iron fire escape with a noiseless and practiced ease, warring with herself on her next course of action. Diana had told her to stay out of the way, and with the way her stomach made a terrifying, nauseous roll just thinking about being in that warehouse with who fucking knew how many armed and very dangerous men surrounding her, she thought that heeding Diana's words might be her safest option.

But she knew, almost as soon as her mind had formed that thought, that there was no way she could just stand aside; her heart wouldn't let her. 47 needed her just as surely as she needed him. She'd never forgive herself if something happened to him and she wasn't there to at least  _try_ to stop it, for fuck's sake.

Finally resolved, Nika pulled in a deep, albeit shaky breath, glanced surreptitiously around the corner, then snuck across the deserted street, sticking as close to the shadows as she was able.

Gun held tightly in trembling, slightly damp hands, she approached the mouth of the alley where she had seen the mercenaries climbing the fire escape. A wide, metal service door was set flush against the dirty gray cinderblock along the side of the warehouse.

She glanced up at the fire escape then back to the door, considering which entrance to take, when the riotous crack of gunfire resounded from within the building. The service door few open with a violent crash, spilling two men into the alley. Nika jumped back as the men, completely oblivious to her, grappled on the pavement.

She inched by them and cautiously stepped through the now battered service door. She was greeted by a wide, open warehouse floor, empty except for a few large pieces of disused factory machinery hulking away into the darkness.

Angry shouts and two more gunshots echoed down loudly to Nika from a metal staircase to her immediate right. Dread clutched at her heart, knowing with an undeniable certainty that 47 was up there somewhere. And for the first time since she found herself driving a rented Audi to an abandoned warehouse in a town she had never even seen on a map to rescue a man she had fallen hopelessly in love with, she wondered how the fuck she was going to get him out of the building if he was injured or incapacitated.

She began climbing the stairs slowly, her heart thudding heavily with every step she took. She cleared the top of the stairs and was met with a long corridor, lit sporadically by a set of flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

Two men lay sprawled on the floor. The one nearest her was on his back, glazed-over eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, blood spilling from a gunshot wound on his neck into a tacky, black pool on the carpeted floor. Nika stepped over him gingerly and glanced to the second body; even with half of his face missing, she recognized the deep red scarf and knew it to be the man who had attacked her.

She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, and looked to the doors that lined the hallway, drawing in quick, shallow breaths, and tried to pluck up enough courage to just pick a fucking door and open it already.

She suddenly froze, realizing that the entire warehouse had become eerily silent.

And then, from the door directly across from her: the faint sound of someone singing a Bruce fucking Springsteen song. She immediately recognized it as the one she had heard on the radio earlier when she was in the car with 47 and they were looking for a place to stop for lunch.

The voice rose to a near shout, happily slurred and hoarse. "You can't start a fire without a spark! This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark!"

_Oh, God._

Nika opened the door slowly, gun clutched tightly in hand. Her breath caught in her throat at what she saw: 47 sitting in a solid metal chair that was bolted to the ground, his arms secured at the chair's arms, his legs tied to the chair's legs. He had a deep, ugly bruise purpling his left cheek and a gash at his right temple that was trailing blood all the way down his neck to his shirt collar. He had been moving his head in time to his horribly out-of-tune song, but centered his gaze at her when he saw her standing in the doorway staring at him. A big, shit-eating grin spread across his face, splitting his already swollen bottom lip.

"Nika, s'you!" he exclaimed.

She rushed into the room, fearing he had been hit so hard in the head that he might have brain damage of some kind. She knelt beside the chair and set her gun on the floor to try and unbind his wrists. "What did they do to you? Are you okay?" she asked frantically.

The thin ropes tying him to the chair would have to be cut. She glanced around the small room, and saw a table covered in various stainless steel utensils in varying degrees of sharpness. A shiver racked through her body and she quickly looked back to 47.

"Where they torturing you?"

47 looked around the room, seemingly distracted, then slowly moved his gaze back to her. Up close she could see that his normally sharp, piercing eyes were unfocused, glassy. "Nah, they just ssslipped me a mickey." He giggled.

Nika quickly moved to the table, and picked through the utensils until she found a scalpel, disturbingly sharp. She stepped back to 47 and began cutting through the ropes at his wrists, forcing her hands to stop trembling so she wouldn't cut  _him_  in the process. "What does that  _mean_ , Forty-seven? What did they give you?"

She freed his hands, and he instantly plopped them down in his lap. She went to work on his ankles. "Sodium thiopental," he said, his voice undulating rapidly as he spoke. "They wanted super secret information on the ICA, but know what?"

Nika looked up at him, stilling in cutting the last bit of rope.

He smiled wide, a small dribble of blood welling out from the cut on his lip. He brought a hand up and tapped his forehead. "This 's an uncrackable sssafe. The ICA's got ways to protect that ssstuff."

Nika shook her head, not really understanding. She looked up at him, snapping her fingers in front of his face to grab his wandering attention. "So that stuff they gave you, what, forces you to give up secret information?" She lifted his suit jacket away to check for injuries, and noticed his holsters were missing.

"Nah, it just makes it really hard to, to uh, to lie."

Nika wondered for a moment just how much he would still be able to keep to himself with that drug running through his veins, even if the Agency  _had_  fixed some sort of safeguard inside his mind against enemy infiltration. She straightened before him, picking her gun up off the floor and stuffing it awkwardly into a pocket on her dress. It was not something she'd be able to worry about here, when time was most definitely not on their side. She held her hands out. "Can you walk?"

47 looked up at her under heavy eyelids and a lopsided smile curved his lips as he slapped his hands in hers. "Take me anywhere you want, baby."

It was an effort, but Nika was able to tug him to his feet. He swayed for a moment then set his hands on her shoulders to steady himself. "Nika, I gotta tell you sumthin'"

She sighed. "Can it wait? We really need to get the fuck out of here."

"No, I gotta tell you." He held her gaze and seemed to struggle to keep the slur from his words. "Nika, I love you. I, I loved you from the moment I met you." He huffed out a breath, seemingly relieved. "Okay, we c'n go now."

She looked up at him, blinking away the tears blurring her vision. It was the first time he'd ever said that to her, and although he was doped out of his fucking mind at the moment, she knew it was the truth. Hell, he was the one that said he couldn't lie, right? She smiled, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Okay, let's go." She moved to his side, looping his arm over her shoulder for support, and slowly walked him to the door. She glanced around the room one last time and saw his guns and holsters lying in a heap in a nearby chair. 47 wobbled along beside her as she moved to pick them up. She shifted his arm and hitched his weapons over her shoulder, before he latched onto her again.

"Hey, those are mine!" he protested, stumbling over his feet as they made for the door.

Nika smirked and grabbed at his tie to stabilize him before he tried to take them both down. "You can have them back when you're sober enough not to shoot your own damn foot off."

She stopped at the door, one hand on the knob. "You ready?" she asked, casting him a sideways glance.

47 grinned. "Always."


	17. Chapter 17

47 tightened his grip on Nika's shoulder as they stood before the door, trying his damndest to keep his balance; his feet just didn't seem to want to want to cooperate. He grinned wide, a chuckle bubbling from his lips. Why would his feet want to cooperate anyways? They could do whatever the hell they wanted to.

Nika's hand stilled on the doorknob and she cast him a sideways glance. "What's so funny?" she asked skeptically.

"My feet," he replied brightly, still grinning. A hot coppery taste suddenly filled his mouth and felt a sticky warmth slick his bottom lip. He brought a hand up and his fingers came away with blood.

He let out an amused grunt as Nika shook her head and slowly opened the door. He vaguely remembered how he had gotten the fat lip and the man who had given him that and few other injuries. But the pain that should have been radiating from his swollen mouth with a vivid intensity was instead like a distant memory, unimportant, indistinct. He couldn't bother himself to wonder about it for long; he couldn't seem to focus on  _anything_ , found he didn't really care, one way or the other.

They stepped into the hallway and 47 lurched forward as his foot caught on a body sprawled on the floor beside the doorway. Sucking in a sharp breath, Nika tightened her arm around his back and brought a steadying hand up to his middle. The warmth from her hand seeped through his shirt, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

"Ssorry," he said, fumbling the word through a sheepish smile.

"Shh!" Nika hissed, glaring at him.

She glanced up and down the hallway, as if trying to decide which direction to start. She looked back to him, irritation and a hint of uncertainty on her face. "We won't be able to make it out of here alive with you making so much fucking  _noise_ ," she whispered harshly.

47 choked back a laugh. He couldn't remember how many times he had said almost the exact same thing to her when he had dragged her away from the Belicoff debacle in St. Petersburg. Nika released an exasperated sigh and began pulling him to the left. Looked like she was the one doing the dragging this time.

But even with the Thiopental continuing to course through his veins, dulling his senses and lowering his inhibitions, his instincts were still sharp, thanks to the ICA's influence. The faint click of a gun being cocked and the barest hint of a footstep on a metal staircase around the corner from them alerted his attention immediately.

"Someone's coming," he murmured in a low voice, trying his hardest to whisper and failing miserably.

Nika tensed beside him. "Where?"

He nodded his head toward the end of the hallway, hearing the barely audible sound of footsteps ascending higher on the stairs, then blinked in surprise when Nika suddenly shoved him back against a closed door, propping him against the door jamb and thrusting his holstered Silverballers at him. The sudden, unexpected movement made his already muddled head spin even more and he fought hard against a wave of nausea, grasping the door's wooden frame to keep himself upright.

He looked over at Nika and couldn't help but feel a welling of pride tighten his chest, even as his shaky equilibrium tried correcting itself. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, her small Makarov held tightly in her level hands, her stance sure and firm, just like he had taught her. Her eyes held no trace of trepidation, just a hard glint of lethal determination.

47 had always thought when he saw her like this that he'd be by her side, his own gun drawn against a foe they'd be fighting  _together_. He never pictured anything like the reality he was right in the middle of now, with his unsteady feet barely able to keep him upright and his unsettled stomach threatening to spill its contents at any moment. He groaned weakly and clutched a little tighter to the doorframe, wishing helplessly that Nika had just left him tied to the chair for all the good he was doing now.

Movement at the end of the darkened hallway caught his attention. He tried to call out a warning, but Nika had already been aware of it and was squaring her shoulders and readjusting the pistol in her hands. Her face was pale but determined in the flickering light of the bulbs overhead.

"Stop right there," she said evenly, her voice echoing loudly down the corridor. The momentary tremble of the gun in her hands was the only sign that belied her fearless exterior.

Guilt settled like a rock in the pit of his stomach.  _He_ should be the one standing there; he should be protecting  _her_ , not the other way around. He blinked hard, trying, and failing, to keep his vision from blurring.

Two empty hands held out in surrender appeared from around the corner. "Can we just talk?" a deep male voice, laced with what might have been a South African accent, drifted toward them. A stocky, black-clad man followed the voice, his hands held up as he slowly stepped around the corner. 47 could not tell if the man was hiding any weapons, not with his head still so soft and jumbled, though he assumed he probably was.

The man took a tentative step forward and Nika immediately pulled the hammer back on her pistol, shaking her head. "That's far enough. Turn around and go back the way you came. We're leaving." Her tone brooked no argument. 47 restrained himself from applauding wildly.

The man smiled genially and shrugged. "I can't let you do that," he said calmly, as if he were merely rebuking a misbehaving child.

"Well it's what's gonna fucking happen," Nika replied bitterly.

The man's smile suddenly turned menacing, his teeth bared in a snarl, and he lunged forward. And before 47 could even think about moving to protect her, Nika pulled the trigger.

The report of the gun shot in the confined hallway was utterly deafening and set 47's ears to ringing painfully, muddling his drug-addled brain even more. He sank to his knees weakly.

The man at the end of the hallway staggered backward, clutching at his chest as blood poured from between his fingers, a startled look frozen on his face. He crumpled unceremoniously to the ground with a low grunt.

Nika's hand slumped to her side, her still-smoking gun clutched tightly in whitened knuckles, as she turned toward 47. Her face was expressionless, her mouth set into a thin line. She held her empty hand out to him. "We have to go."

He looked up at her, his lagging brain coherent enough in that moment to understand that that had been her first kill, and he found himself worried that she showed no emotion toward it. He pulled in a shaky breath and set his hand in hers, sickly relieved to find that it was trembling slightly. He looked to her eyes as she pulled him to his feet awkwardly, absently noting the flash of sheer horror there before they became distant once again.

She hitched his holsters over her shoulder then settled his arm around her neck and began tugging him toward the stairs at the end of the hallway. It took all his concentration not to trip over his feet as they walked the short distance. The drowsy pull of fatigue began to set in and he slumped against Nika, wanting only to lie down, just for a moment.

She buckled under his weight and groaned. "Just a little farther, Forty-seven, we can't stop now."

They rounded the corner and 47 looked down at the staircase before them, wavering and blurring and endless and nearly vomited. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and shook his head. "I can't do it," he moaned helplessly.

Nika adjusted his arm across her shoulders. "Yes, you can. I'm right here; we'll do it together."

They moved to the first stair, 47 reaching a shaking hand out to the railing. But before they could even step down, a loud shout reverberated off the walls of the hallway, "Wait!"

47's hand had reached across Nika, releasing one of his holstered Silverballers, and leveled it down the corridor before his mind had even processed what his ears had even heard. He turned his head slowly, following the line of his own arm to see that he was aiming at a man at the opposite end of the hallway.

"Agent Forty-seven?" the man asked in a decidedly British accent, holding his hands up, one empty, one loosely holding a snub-nosed pistol. "Diana sent us to retrieve you."

47 looked over at Nika, relishing in the tremendous throb at his temples that moving his head caused if only because it momentarily kept his exhaustion at bay. She released a relieved sigh and nodded, confirming what the man had said.

The man approached them steadily, holstering his sidearm at his hip. The fluorescents overhead flickered briefly then stayed lit as he stopped before them, assessing 47 with pale blue eyes. A small, embroidered patch on his chest stated the name Watkins.

"The building's been secured," he said brusquely, tapping a nearly invisible earpiece and shooting a quick glance to the man on the floor behind them. He looked to Nika "We have a vehicle waiting outside, and have been advised to transport you to the nearest hotel."

"Our rental car," Nika began, shifting under 47's weight.

Watkins reached out and pulled the slumping agent to his side, anchoring 47's arm across his broad shoulders. He gingerly pulled his Silverballer from his grasp, handing it to Nika. 47 was too tired to even protest. "Diana has already informed me that she has taken care of it," he stated.

Nika nodded and reholstered 47's weapon. She looked up to him, dark shadows pooling under her weary eyes. 47 blinked hard, trying to keep her in focus. She opened her mouth, about to speak, then looked away from him, centering her gaze on Watkins. "Lead the way. I wanna get the fuck out of here."

Darkness crowded 47's field of vision as they turned in the narrow hallway, heading away from the staircase and he brought a hand up, clutching weakly at Watkins' flack jacket for support as the world seemed to fall out from beneath him.

"I might throw up on you," he groaned hoarsely to the man at his side. It was the last thing he remembered saying before he was enveloped in a welcoming, soundless unconsciousness where not much of anything seemed to matter anymore


	18. Chapter 18

Nika woke with a start, sitting bolt upright, her heart beating a wildly uneven staccato. She hugged her knees to her chest, shivering as cool night air hit her nearly naked skin, dimly aware that the sheets around her were damp with sweat. The nightmare that had woken her still stood out vividly in her mind; She had been back in the hallway at the warehouse, staring down the barrel of her gun at the man advancing on her, but instead of taking him down, her shot went wide right and in a blur of barely discernible movements he had grabbed her and held her back against him so tightly that when the man had used her  _own_ fucking gun on 47 she was unable to go to him and hold him as he bled out. She had done what she could to struggle away, kicked and screamed, but in the end was forced to watch helplessly as 47 died right in front of her eyes.

The pain and grief and all encompassing heartbreak Nika had felt then remained even after she had woken from the dream. She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead on her knees, choking back a sob, concentrating all of her effort on slowing her breathing instead of the panic tightening in her chest that threatened to overwhelm her.

After a few moments of deep, calming breaths the dream had already begun to fade. Nika lifted her head slowly, blinking into the darkness of the room, letting her eyes adjust to her dim surroundings.

The hotel room that Watkins and his group had secured for them was simple, clean, and impersonal with a basic queen sized bed and plain chestnut nightstands set against one wall, and a matching dresser topped with a small flat screen tv positioned directly opposite.

Nika looked to the alarm clock beside her and rubbed at her bleary eyes, trying to bring the bright red numbers into focus.  _1:15 am, are you fucking kidding me?_  She huffed out a weary sigh. She had only been asleep for an hour. Watkins had insisted on driving them across the Latvian border to a hotel in Rēzekne that he had assured her was secure. She had tried to sleep on the four-hour trip, but found herself unable to, not with her frayed nerves still on high alert and her heart aching with worry over 47. He had been in a state of semi-consciousness, still able to somehow walk and support  _some_  of his own weight on the way out of the warehouse, but had fallen into a heavy unconsciousness as soon as they were shuffled into a nondescript SUV at the curb. She had cradled his head in her lap gingerly the entire ride as she sat staring numbly out the window at the dark blur of landscape that had passed. Watkins had explained that he imagined 47's acute state of sedation was due to the mixture of the tranquilizer that was most likely used to take him down initially and the Thiopental injection administered to him once his assailants had secured him in the warehouse. Watkins had gone on to remark to her reflection in the rearview mirror how surprised he was that 47 had even been able to stand up, much less _walk,_  with all the drugs coursing through his veins, though in response to Nika's only question, he wasn't certain if 47 would retain any memory of what had happened after he regained consciousness.

Nika's heart had clenched painfully at that and she had wondered if he would even remember that he had said he loved her, that he had actually said the words  _out loud._

She blinked away the sorrow-tinged memory along with the tears crowding her eyes. She looked over at 47 as he slept next to her, near bare but for his boxer briefs, on his side in the same position Watkins had put him in when he had dragged him into the bed.  _"Just so he doesn't asphyxiate himself if he happens to be sick again."_

Nika folded her knees under herself and scooted closer to his side, overcome with a need to be near him. She reached out a tentative hand and ghosted her fingers over a large, deep bruise on his side, most likely indicating broken ribs. Her fingers moved higher over his muscular arm, feathering lightly over the old, faded scars marking the skin there. His life had always been hard, dangerous –that much she had gleaned from the short time they had been together, but she hoped, hoped with ever fiber of her fucking being, that the life they were heading to at the vineyard could be free from the worry of gaining any more scars.

Her hand moved higher, hovering over his cheek, hesitating, before she brought the very tips of her fingers down to brush against the short, jagged cut on his temple that she had cleaned, wondering at how such a small wound could have bled so freely as to have completely saturated his shirt collar, when she suddenly found herself being dragged roughly down to the mattress with a speed she wouldn't have thought possible before meeting 47.

He was above her now, one strong hand clenched around her wrists, painfully pinioning her arms above her head, the other clasped around her throat, cutting off her oxygen. He glared down at her, his eyes unfocused, distant, and she thought then with sheer terror, that he had surely lost  _all_ memory of her and she was about to die by his hand.

His eyes suddenly cleared and he brought his hand away from her neck at once as if he had been burned, though his other hand still held her wrists above her head. She sucked in a sharp, wheezing breath, wincing at the burn in her throat.

"Nika?" Concern and shock were etched into the lines on his face. "How…" His words trailed off as he looked around the room quickly before letting his gaze slide back to her.

Then without warning, he brought his mouth down to hers, crushing their lips together in a hungry, needful kiss. Nika lay still, too surprised to move for a moment, but was quickly toppled out of her stupor by the insistent push of 47's tongue between her lips. And all of the pain and fear and heart wrenching uncertainty that had been flooding through her all day simply washed away, and was replaced just as quickly with a low, sensual ache that spread from the pit of her stomach outward. She had always loved the way he kissed, fumbling and awkward, but always sincere and endearingly passionate. She knew that she was probably the only woman who had ever received them, and cherished each one as a special gift.

When 47 finally released her wrists, Nika wasted no time in bringing her hands to his tensing shoulders to pull him closer, needing to feel his skin on hers just to remind herself that they were both okay, that they were both here, relishing in the heavy weight of his body pressing her into the mattress as he complied. She rolled her hips up against him and gasped when she ground against his erection. He pulled back from her mouth with a low groan and looked down at her, his eyes dark with arousal, his breath coming out in ragged pants; Nika swallowed hard, trying to control her own rapid gasps as he sat back to maneuver his way out of his boxers. She was able to wiggle out of her own underwear just as he moved back over her, settling himself between her legs. A hot coil of want tightened around her middle when he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He pulled in a deep breath just before he was about to push forward, and winced, suddenly bringing his hand up to the bruise on his ribs.

Alarm lanced through her. "Oh god, Forty-seven. Here let me…" She made a move to sit up against the headboard.

He shook his head firmly. "No, it's fine."

"Just let me get…" she began in protest, trying to reach for the bottle of pain pills that Watkins had left behind.

47 silenced her with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. "Nika, please. I need to feel this, I need to feel you." He breathed the words against the corner of her lips.

And before she could object further, he was inside of her, her words dissolving into a pleasured cry. She hooked her feet at his lower back, angling her hips toward him, and swore she saw stars as he pounded into her, building a momentum she had to work to keep pace with. Her hands moved to his shoulders, gripping into his straining muscles as he moved above her, his breathless groans spurring on the already aching tension low in her belly.

His thrusts became erratic and more urgent and he brought his mouth down to hers, planting a shaky kiss on her lips before trailing more kisses across her cheek to her ear. "I love you, Nika," he whispered in a broken stutter.

Her orgasm hit her out of nowhere, a jagged stripe of pleasure that rushed through her mercilessly. She gripped 47 as tightly to her body as she was able as he followed her over the edge, pressing his face against her neck, crying out his release with a hoarse shout.

He pulled his head back, his arms trembling up near her shoulders as he supported himself above her. His lips were parted to drag in breath, his eyes full of what she liked to think might have been awe. She brought her hands up to his cheeks, framing his face gently, careful not to press on his swollen, bruised skin and brought her lips to his for a soft kiss before he withdrew and rolled gingerly off of her, lying down on his back at her side.

Nika turned and reached to grab the bottle of pain pills on the nightstand. She looked back to 47 and shook the bottle gently. "Ready for some of these now?"

He gave her a small smile and nodded, swallowing down the proffered pills with a small sip of water from a bottle Nika handed him.

She lay down beside him, curling against his side as carefully as she could, so as not to jostle him too much, and rested her head against his chest, finding complacent comfort in the steady, strong beat of his heart.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Nika nodded slightly against his sweat slicked skin, her eyes drifting closed. "Watkins was the one that gave them to me. He said you can take two every…"

47 hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her head a bit, a low chuckle reverberating out through his chest. "I meant for saving my life."

She blushed and hoped that 47 wouldn't notice the flush on her cheeks in the darkened room. "I thought I'd return the favor," she said quietly, "since you've saved mine more times than I can count."

A small smile curved at his lips and she saw his eyelids beginning to droop. She settled back against his chest, feeling sleep pulling at her as well.

47 shifted slightly under her. "Nika?"

"Hmm?" she mumbled tiredly.

"Did I throw up on Watkins? I can remember just about all of it, except that." His voice was low, bordering on downright groggy.

Nika smiled against his warm skin, answering him just before falling into a deep, contented sleep. "Yes, and he says you owe him a new pair of shoes."


	19. Chapter 19

47 stood at the sole window in the hotel room, wearing only his slacks and undershirt, and pulled the curtain back slightly, looking down three stories at the bleak, rain-soaked city before him. The clouds had rolled in early the morning after their first night in Rēzenke and had stayed all week, casting the buildings and landscape in a dreary, gray haze.

Of all the traveling he had ever done, this had been the longest amount of time he had spent in one place and all at Nika's unwavering insistence. She had declared, and quite firmly, that he needed time to recover from their ordeal, and even though he had tried to counter her by arguing that he'd been injured far worse before and had moved onto his next hit with barely a day's rest between, she would hear none of it.

And after all, Nika was very  _persuasive_ , and, as he was quickly learning, in more ways than one. He had, at one point, thought of mentioning that he had not been getting much  _rest_ , as was her original intention, then had quickly shut his mouth when she had gently pulled him back to bed with an impish smile playing at her lips.

But even with Nika's profound skill at distraction- something he somehow thought might have been for her own benefit as much as his, as she had woken from nightmares she refused to share with him almost every night this last week and would not sleep again until she was breathless and spent in his arms- he had still begun to feel restless. He had found other ways to ease some of his edgy tension, teaching her how to disassemble and clean her weapon, showing her a variety of self-defense techniques. But even then, he still felt that the longer they stayed there, the more vulnerable they became. He felt as though they were not entirely safe, he  _knew_  they weren't, even though Watkins had convinced Nika that the hotel they were in was secure. They'd be pursued, by the ICA and others, until one or both of them was dead, that much was certain. They were headed to the veritable protection of the vineyard, but how well fortified could he possibly make it? No matter how secured it would be, no matter how hard he had worked to keep all knowledge of it from them, the ICA would find it, would find a way in, if they truly wanted to, and he'd be as restless and anxious as he was now, just waiting for them to attack, never able to give Nika the full attention and love she deserved.

A small smile tugged at his mouth and he let the curtain fall closed as he looked over at her, asleep on her side in their bed.  _Love_ \- he had said the actual word to her, sincerely meant it, felt the undeniable truth of it deep inside of himself. He hadn't known, in the beginning, if he'd be capable of love, if it was possibly something that the Agency had dissected from him when he was young, just as he had always assumed they had of his compassion and empathy. But just being  _near_ Nika had drawn out emotions he didn't even know he would ever be able to experience or express, and then, when she had risked her own safety to rescue him from the warehouse, when he had been at the weakest, most vulnerable point in his life, he knew with a doubtless certainty that he loved her, suspected that he had that first moment he laid eyes on her standing on that crowded sidewalk in St. Petersburg, the look on her face fearless and defiant and hopelessly lost all at once.

Nika stirred in the bed, slowly blinking her eyes open, then smiled when she her gaze drifted to his and she noticed him watching her. She propped herself up on her elbow, the sheet that had been covering her falling away to reveal her naked breasts. Heat instantly pooled in his groin and he swallowed,  _hard._  Nika had never been modest about her body, 47 had know that from the beginning, but it still shot a jolt of pleasure clean through him every time he saw her bare herself so unabashedly.

"Hello," she said, her voice slightly rough from sleep.

"Hello," 47 answered sheepishly, feeling a little embarrassed at being caught watching her so intently, and absently ran his hand across his scalp. Short, new hair growth tickled against his palm and he drew his hand away. Nika had suggested early in the week that he let it grow out, saying that it would cover his barcode tattoo pretty effectively, and he had agreed; he just hadn't known how fast it would start to grow back and it still felt strange after a lifetime of feeling smooth skin there.

Nika laughed lightly. "You've got that look again."

His brow creased slightly, trying to think what look she might be referring to, when so many thoughts had just whipped through his mind. "What look?"

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. "That look that says you're coming up with a new plan." She cocked her head to the side, a flash of amusement in her eyes. "You're calculating a new objective."

He almost started to deny it, then thought better of it. He had studied her long enough to know when she was hiding something from him, even if he did not know precisely what it might be, and she sure as hell knew  _his_  emotions better than he did himself.

He smiled- it was something that was getting easier and easier to do now. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

"It's a gift." She patted the empty space beside her on the bed, and 47 accepted the invitation, sitting down. "What's our next heading, captain?" she asked playfully.

He propped his back against the headboard and stretched his legs out on the bed, considering the question. "That is something we need to discuss, because I honestly don't know what we should do next."

Nika's eyes found his; the amusement was still there, but it had faded slightly. "We're still heading toward the vineyard, right?"

47 nodded his head slowly. "Yes, that is still the ultimate goal." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "But I feel as if we will not be completely safe even after we reach it."

"Because of the Agency?" she asked softly.

"Precisely."

Nika huffed out a breath and folded her arms across her chest, sitting back up against the headboard beside him. "I wish those fuckers would forget about us and just leave us the hell alone," she said bitterly.

And then an idea hit him- hit him like a goddamn .45 caliber slug; while it might not be possible for the ICA to ever really  _forget_ about them, not after all that had happened in Russia and the fact that he'd gone rogue and had taken a very lucrative hit with him, it was still possible for 47 to erase the documents that tied them to the Agency, giving them the chance to travel to France undetected, giving them the chance to start a new life once they reached the vineyard, without having to worry that they Agency would track them down. It would be a nearly impossible task, but an absolutely necessary one.

47 sat up slowly and looked over at her.

"What? Did you come up with something?" Her eyes were wide, expectant.

"You're not going to like it," he said carefully.

"I don't care what it is, as long as it gets those bastards off our backs permanently."

He took a deep breath. "I'm going to have to infiltrate the Agency's headquarters in Denmark and destroy the records they've kept on us."

Her face paled, her tentative smile fading into a thin line.

47 immediately shifted so that he was facing her and pulled her delicate, skilled hands into his large, rough ones, trying to keep her attention focused on him, even as he felt her slipping away, shutting down. It was the same reaction he had gotten six days ago when he had tried asking her about the still unclear events surrounding his rescue.

"It won't be like the warehouse, Nika," he assured her. His words began spilling out in a rush as all the pieces of the plan fell together in his mind. "I'll be prepared, armed. I'll make sure you're in a secured location before I go. Clearing out our information is really the only option we have where I can completely ensure that we'll be truly free of them."

Her distant eyes finally cleared and centered on his. "I'm coming with you."

47's fingers tightened around hers. "No, Nika."

She tilted her chin up. "I am coming with you," she said again, annunciating each word firmly.

47 pulled her hands up to his chest, holding them against his heart. "I cannot put you in more danger than I already have. You're all I have left in this world and I cannot, I  _will_  not lose you,  _especially_ when there is a way that I can keep you out of harm's way until this is finished."

Fire flashed in her eyes. "You think  _I'm_ the only one that could get injured here, Forty-seven?" She wrenched her hands away and stood up from the bed, finding her black dress on the floor, and tugging it on over her head roughly. She slammed her hands down on her hips, then brought one up, shaking a finger at him accusingly, and he knew if he had been closer, it would be jabbing him in the chest. "You're not invincible, you know," she said harshly. Her bottom lip trembled and tears crowded her eyes even as she scowled at him.

47 moved off the bed and reached for her, but she stepped back. An aching pain flared in his chest at her retreat.

"You almost  _died_ last week, Forty-seven!" she shouted, clenching her fists at her sides, her cheeks flushing an angry red. "Do you even fucking know what that would have done to me if I hadn't found you?" A tear rolled over the dragon tattoo on her cheek and she scrubbed it away harshly. "You don't get to talk to  _me_  about keeping out of harm's way!"

He stepped forward and brought his arms around her. She tried pushing away with a broken cry, but 47 only pulled her closer. Her fists beat against his chest weakly. "Вы сказали, что никогда не оставит меня снова, Сорок-семь."  _You said you would never leave me again, Forty-seven._ Her voice was thick with tears.

And there it was- all of the words she had refused to tell him this whole week, all the words she had carried as an invisible burden. He tightened his arms around her, feeling her tears soaking into his shirt, feeling the threat of his own hot at the back of his eyes. He pressed his mouth against hair, pulling in a shaky breath that was full of the scent of her. "I never intended to leave you, Nika."

"But it's what you're trying to do now," she sobbed out, her words muffled against his chest.

47 held her back from him, looking into her shimmering eyes, using his thumb to brush away the moisture on her cheek. "I am only trying to keep you safe."

She kept her eyes locked on his, blinking away her tears, as her hands fisted lightly into the front of his shirt. "But if I am there with you, by your side, you'll know that I am. I am capable of protecting myself, and after what happened at the warehouse, you know that it's true." She sighed and looked down to her hands, smoothing his shirt over his chest. After a moment, her gaze found his again. "You said before that we are strongest when we are together. And if this  _objective_  is going to be as difficult as I think it probably will be, you're going to need all the help you can get." The barest hint of a smile touched her lips as she looked up at him.

Nika had saved his life that night at the warehouse; that was one thing he was certain of. Her strength, her devotion, her selflessness had gotten him out of a situation he would not have been able to walk away from by himself. And he realized now, that attempting to hide her away might be one of the biggest mistakes he could possibly make. She was the only person he had ever known that would risk their life to save his, and even though he only wanted to keep her safe, he finally understood that she was trying to do the same with him. And if the events surrounding that night at the warehouse were any indication, it was clear that she was quite qualified to do so.

He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and nodded his agreement slowly. They worked best when they were  _together_ , like the intricate, well-oiled pieces of a Ruger. He had been trying his damndest to keep her away from danger, and now he understood, as he assumed she had known all along, that for this to work, he needed to put his trust in her ability to protect him, as much as she had always trusted him to do the same for her. They would break into the Agency together, they would complete this last mission together, and they would be free to start a new life  _together_.

A wide grin spread across Nika's face, her eyes shining, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He savored the languid slide of her tongue against his, tasted the last remnants of her distraught tears, then pulled back slowly, bringing his forehead down to rest against hers.

"This is not going to be easy," he warned her softly.

"It never is with you, Forty-seven."

/

The rest of the morning was spent planning, researching. The nearest city with an airport that had flights to Copenhagen, Denmark was in Riga, a four-hour drive from their current location. 47 was about to book an evening flight, which would allow them to arrive at the Agency under the cover of darkness after a 95-minute plane ride, until Nika helpfully supplied the fact that she did not have a passport, and would not be allowed to board the plane without at least  _some_  form of identification.

They ventured out into Rēzenke to search for supplies. 47 had to admit, it was nice being out of the hotel room, even if they were slightly dampened by the light rain that continued to blanket the city as they made their way down the sidewalk.

They searched a few stores until 47 had gathered enough materials to make a passport for Nika, as well as a suitable piece of luggage that he could use to transport their weapons in, and she had visited enough clothing stores for them to each have one new outfit to wear on the next leg of their journey. She had found a dark pair of jeans, a low-cut black top that hugged her curves almost distractedly, and sensible pair of trainers that 47 had insisted she buy. He had found a well-fitting black suit, white shirt, and red tie that were almost identical to the dozens he had worn before. Nika had scoffed and attempted to convince him to at least  _try_  something different;  _he_  had pointed out that this particular suit jacket had only one button, whereas his old one had two. She had only sighed deeply and shook her head.

Back at the hotel, 47 made short work of creating Nika's passport; it was a skill he had learned long ago, as the Agency had always required him to blend in impeccably in any country he visited- a skill he was sure that they would soon regret ever demanding of him. He handed it over to her as she sat on the bed, using his phone to reserve a rental car. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked it over.

"Nika  _Petersen?"_

_"_ It is a common surname in this part of the country," he stated. "And is also the name that is listed on the passport that I'm using."

She stared at him for a moment. "Forty-seven, are we going to be a  _married_  couple on this trip?"

He glanced over at her, stilling in cleaning the small desk before him of bits of paper and laminating plastics, not quite understanding why it would matter. "Yes."

Nika looked down to the passport in her hands, then back to him. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, shaking her head in a baffling disbelief, and went back to typing on his phone.

A short time later, there was only one task that remained before they left the hotel for their journey to Riga. 47 took a deep breath and pressed the only option in his mobile's contacts list:  _Handler_.

Diana answered on the first ring. He spoke before she could get a word in. "I need to call in another favor."

The faint tapping of computer keys followed a light laugh from her side. "I don't think you have any left, Forty-seven, not after what happened last week."

"This will be the last time I'll ever ask you for help. You'll never hear from me again after this."

A pause, then: "I'm listening."

47 explained his idea of infiltrating the ICA's headquarters, of destroying his and Nika's files, of falling off the grid. "I just need you to work the security cameras and locks and erase any documents that are stored on the Agency's hard-drives; Nika and I will destroy the paper files. Without the information they already have, it will be impossible for them to find us again."

Diana sighed. "When are you planning on doing this?"

"Tonight."

There was no sound from the other end, not even the click of a keyboard. 47 held the phone away for a moment, sure that she had hung up on him. He replaced it against his ear when he saw that the call was still connected.

"I expect not to hear from you once this is done, Forty-seven."

"I see no reason why, after this is finished, you would need to speak to someone who no longer exists."

The call lasted only a few moments longer as they discussed the specifics, and ended after 47 told her he would contact her once they reached the Agency's facility on the outskirts of Copenhagen.

He set the mobile on the dresser next to him and reached for his new tie, looking over at Nika as she sat on the bed, bending forward to tie her shoe. She straightened, brushing a lock of hair back from her eyes and glanced over at him, saw as he started to slip the clean, smooth material over his turned up collar around the back of his neck. She stood, smiling, and pulled his old, slightly frayed tie from a pile of clothes on a nearby chair, and walked across the room to him slowly.

He looked down at her as she stood before him. She slowly reached up to pull the tie from his neck. The silken, unmarred material slid through his fingers smoothly and whispered to the floor between them.

She settled his worn, slightly faded scarlet tie around his neck and went about the task of knotting it for him; an echo of a moment seemingly shared a lifetime ago.

"I thought you said I should try something new," he said softly, teasingly.

Her eyes flicked up to his, full of mirth, before focusing back on the knot against his neck. "It will bring you good luck." She tightened it snuggly, comfortably up against the hollow at the base of his throat and smoothed the length down his chest. His pulse seemed to quicken inexplicably as her hands ran down the sleek material.

He swallowed dryly. "I can't remember this tie ever bringing me any kind of good luck," he said, his voice low and uncertain. Not when this was the tie he had been wearing when he was double-crossed by the Agency in St. Petersburg, not when he had been wearing it when Nika had been shot on the wreckage of the Krasnya Strela outside of Luga, not when he had been wearing it when he had been drugged and nearly died in an abandoned warehouse in a city whose name he could no longer remember clearly.

Nika tugged on the edge of the frayed material, bringing his focus back to her, her eyes searching his intently. "You were wearing it when you met me."

She gave a gentle yank, efficiently bringing his lips down to hers, offering him a kiss he gladly accepted, was nearly lost in, until he suddenly remembered the time and their reserved seats at the RIX in Riga, and pulled back quickly, much to Nika's colorful, curse-filled lament.


	20. Chapter 20

Nika sat in the middle of a three seat row with 47 on her left side on the airBaltic as other passengers boarded around them, anxiously turning the simple silver band at her left ring finger. 47 had presented the ring to her as they sat in their rental car in the airport parking lot not more than an hour ago. It had not been done as a proposal, or with any sort of fanfare or sentimental words; he had simply placed it in her outstretched palm, and she understood that it was only a prop to keep up the appearance that they were a married couple, but slipping it on her ring finger, feeling the cool, smooth metal settle against her skin perfectly, filled her heart with an unfamiliarly blissful anticipation. She had smiled to herself even knowing 47 was completely oblivious to its significance to her.

In all the time she had been with Belicoff, controlled by him, she had always been the whore. He had never tried portraying her in a different light; never the wife, never the girlfriend. And even though the clothes he bought for her made it pretty fucking obvious what her 'job' was, he had never even tried to refute it when they walked down the street together, never stood up to the men that asked  _"How much?"_ , had only ever sold her off for the night if the price was right. It wasn't until a long time later, until 47 had rescued her from that life that she had finally stopped believing that a whore was what she really was, was  _all_  that she was. And it wasn't until 47 had given her the ring that she had felt she was truly someone's equal. 47 trusted her enough that he wanted her at his side as they ventured into this dangerously risky situation together.

But if she was full of that warm feeling of belonging as she sat in the passenger seat of that rental car then, she was most definitely not full of that warmth now, not as their plane, the very first plane Nika had ever been on in her whole fucking life, was taxiing through the darkness of a mild Latvian summer evening toward the runway, preparing for take off.

She brought her hands down to the armrests, fingers gripping tightly to the rigid plastic and metal, as her heart beat against her ribcage like a frightened canary. She suddenly felt 47's hand on hers and she jumped. Her head whipped to the left, looking at him helplessly.

He pried her hand up from the armrest gently and laced his fingers with hers, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Are you okay?"

"First flight," she choked out.

Realization dawned across his face and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm right here."

Nika forced a tight nod, then felt her fluttering heart jump up into her throat when the engines roared to life and the plane jolted forward. She clamped her fingers around his to the point where she thought she might have been hurting him, but he didn't pull away and a quick look to his face showed no discomfort, only a soft, encouraging smile. It calmed her nerves a bit, and when the plane finally evened out, she exhaled, thankful that it hadn't tanked right into the fucking ground for all the noise the damn thing made.

47 cleared his throat and when she looked over at him she saw that she was still clutching his hand. She released her death grip, casting him an apologetic look. "That wasn't so bad," she said, a shaky laugh following her words.

After all the near death experiences she had been through with 47, and everything there were about to walk into in less than two hours, and the  _one_ thing that caused her a near-crushing anxiety spike was a goddamn plane ride.

47's voice drifted over to her. "The first takeoff is always the worst. It will get easier for you the more we fly."

Nika smiled and looked at him. "And how many more flights are you planning for us?"

He settled back against his seat, undoing his seat belt and smoothing his tie down his chest. "After our files are erased, I see no reason why we can't just  _fly_  to France," he answered simply.

Nika's smile widened fractionally, though unlike 47, she opted to keep her belt buckled purely for safety's sake; bouncing between all the various modes of transportation since they had begun their journey as a way to cover their tracks had been  _more_  than fucking trying, and just the  _thought_ of getting on one more damn train had set her nerves on edge. The relief she felt at the realization that they'd be able to move from one destination to another without having to look over their shoulders every five fucking minutes soothed her nerves more than any shot of vodka ever could have.

"And," 47 continued, entwining his fingers with hers again, his voice low and uncharacteristically timid, "There is much of this world that I'd like to share with you." He cast his eyes down to their joined hands. "Once we've finished this, there's nothing holding us back from seeing it together, after we've had a chance to settle in at the vineyard."

Nika sank back in her seat, her heart warmed by the fact that he had been putting so much thought into their future plans, something she had not really had a chance to think about any further than simply  _getting_  to their plot of land. They spent the rest of their short flight, heads bent together, quietly talking about all the places they might visit, all the places Nika had always dreamt of seeing.

And until they finally touched down, she had almost forgotten they were even  _on_  an airplane, so absorbed was she in their conversation. They walked brusquely through the brightly lit CPH terminal after deboarding the plane, Nika finding it much easier to keep up with 47's long strides when she wasn't wearing high heels.

They stopped at the baggage carousel and only had to wait a few moments until their single piece of luggage made its appearance amongst a handful of other bags. 47 hefted it in one hand easily and grasped Nika's with the other, leading her through the crowd to the airport's entrance. One easy push through the plate glass doors and they were outside.

The not all-together unpleasant humid night air that greeted them was so much like the warm summer evenings in St. Petersburg that Nika momentarily felt an almost overwhelming rush of homesickness. But how could she feel homesick for a place she could never really consider  _home_? True, it had been a place she had spent almost half her life, it was all she really knew, but it was also a place that had tested and broken the limits of her spirit, a place that had taught her more about the sometimes boundless capacity for cruelty in others than she had ever wanted to know.

Nika drew her hand into a shaky fist, digging her nails into her palm in an attempt to control her near-rampant emotions as 47 stepped to the curb to hail a cab. She centered her focus on him, on the stretch of tight muscle at his shoulder, visible even under his suit jacket as he raised his arm, focused on the short stubbly hair growing against his scalp, dark as she had always known it would be, focused on the thick silver band on the left ring finger of his outstretched hand, glinting dully in the overhead florescent lights, and she knew, with more conviction than she'd ever felt before, that it didn't matter where she was in this world, if she was with 47, she  _was_  home.

A cab pulled to a stop before him and he turned and motioned to Nika as she stood back from the curb a little ways. He held the rear door open for her as she stepped forward, then slid in next to her once she was settled in her seat, holding their suitcase full of disassembled weapons in his lap. He leaned forward, most likely giving the driver their destination in a language Nika knew was Danish, but couldn't hope to understand. The driver, a middle-aged man with a thin, angular face and an unruly mop of pale blond hair stuffed up under a pageboy cap, nodded and eased the car away from the curb and into the steady flow of traffic surrounding the airport.

47 sat unmoving, silently staring ahead, his eyes somehow distant and acutely alert at the same time. Nika knew that look. She also knew better than to distract him when he was mentally reviewing their plan of action.

She let her gaze drift to the window, to the brightly lit cityscape as it passed by in a blur, taking the quiet moment to go over the plan herself, trying to remember everything 47 had told her on their four hour car ride from Rēzekne to Riga.

_The ICA operates on a global scale with contract information being sent electronically and by intricate satellite modalities to hitmen stationed in various locales across the world. It also manages multiple training and armory facilities throughout Denmark, but it is unlikely that there will be any Agents at the headquarters, since it largely only houses the Agency's archives and computer servers. That is not to say that the building won't be under surveillance, in addition to the guards stationed inside to protect the ICA's classified intel._

_Diana will help us to gain entry through an emergency exit at the rear of the building and from there we will move to the second and the third floors, consecutively, to locate our files from the separate archive rooms. We will exit the building through our initial entry point._

_Remember to keep focused, fire your weapon only when necessary as it's not suppressed, be aware of your surroundings at all times, and if something happens and we are separated, you get the hell out, Nika. Do not stop, do not look back. Get out and go to the vineyard and I will meet you there._

The cab slowed abruptly, bringing Nika back to the present. She lightly patted the zippered cargo pocket on her thigh, reassuring herself that the deeds were still where she had put them after 47 had passed them to her in the rental car. She had nodded then, had sworn to him that she would run if they got separated, if the unspeakable happened, but secretly knew she never could; she would do whatever she could to make sure that they left that goddamn building together, that he'd be right by her side when she stepped onto that land in the south of France for the first time.

She looked out the window when the cab pulled to a stop in a darkened business district on the outskirts of downtown Copenhagen, assessing the unassuming flat topped office buildings lining the street around them, trying to guess which one housed the Agency. Each structure seemed to look only slightly different than the last, barely discernable but for the varying neutral shades of the plaster covering them and the fact that some of them went up five stories or more while others only seemed to have three levels at the most. The streetlamps edging the sidewalk tinged each building-front with a subtly orange glow and cast deep black shadows into the spaces between them.

47 paid the driver and moved out of the car, holding his hand out for Nika once he had straightened outside of the cab. She scooted toward the open door and offered the driver a quick thank you before grasping 47's hand, and allowing him to pull her out onto the sidewalk. They stood under the light of a streetlamp until the cab disappeared back down the street in the direction they had just come from. And just like that, it was only the two of them standing alone in the desertion of an after-hours business district.

Nika looked up to 47's face. He was peering up the road with a scowl, but brought his gaze down to her, the lines on his face smoothing out when she lightly squeezed their still joined hands. "I'm ready when you are," she said with more conviction than she felt.

He nodded slowly, looking again up the street, before pulling her into the shadowed area between the buildings beside them. He led her back to a narrow alleyway that was bracketed on the opposite side by even more office buildings, but was clear of other people and lit dimly by small sconces hanging over each building's rear doorways.

47 crouched low, setting the suitcase on the gravel before him, opening it quickly. Nika knelt beside him and watched in amazement as he pieced together three guns, his two Silverballers and Nika's Makarov, from their loose, disassembled parts with barely a second glance to what he had grabbed out of the bag. It wasn't long until he was handing her her pistol and loaded clip, settling his own into the holsters under his jacket with a practiced ease.

He straightened, hefting the suitcase into a nearby dumpster, then stepped back and stood before her, smoothing his tie down his chest, his thumb rubbing against the back of the material for a moment, his eyes dark and serious in the weak light. "Do you remember what I said earlier, about what to do if we get separated?"

Nika nodded, casting her eyes to the ground between them. How could she forget?  _Do not stop, do not look back_.

47 hooked a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze up to his, a slight frown tugging at his mouth. "Do you remember?" he asked again.

She pulled away from his hand, an unwanted spark of anger stinging through her. She didn't want to be mad at him, not now, not ever, but she couldn't help it. "Yes, Forty-seven, I fucking remember," she hissed, "Run and don't look back".  _Which I would never consider doing_ , she thought to herself.

He rubbed a hand down his face then let it fall limply to his side. Stark shadows pooled under his eyes. "For my own piece of mind, Nika, I need to know you'll do it. Please." His tone was pleading and desperate and immediately diffused her unwarranted anger.

She sighed resignedly. "I said I'd do it."

His eyes assessed her uncertainly for a moment before he turned without a word and began walking down the alleyway. Nika followed, driving her clip into the butt of her gun, chambering a round like 47 had taught her. And nearly ran right into the back of him when he stopped abruptly. He suddenly turned to face her and Nika glanced around bewildered at what he might have seen.

"What's…" The rest of her word were eaten up by 47's mouth crushing against hers hungrily, needful, like he might not get another chance to taste her. She was caught off guard by his kiss, her body momentarily frozen by shock, and it wasn't until she felt his hands tangling in her hair, tugging her head back gently, that she was jolted from her immobility. Her lips parted breathlessly, her free hand coming up to clutch his tie in a tight fist, her mouth returning his kiss with a greedy intensity.

But just as quickly as his mouth had been on hers, it was gone. She blinked her eyes open dazedly, swaying a bit, her heart thumping in that riotous pattern that only 47's kisses could incite.

He brought his hand up to her cheek and she couldn't help but turn into the touch.

"Remember," he began.

"I know, Forty-seven," she broke in, slightly irritated that he felt the need to remind her  _again_  about his specific instruction.

"Remember," he said again, firmly, "that I love you, Nika."

He brushed the pad of his thumb across her dragon tattoo, before dropping his hand into a pocket on his jacket.

"I love you too," she whispered.

He nodded, pulling a small earpiece from his pocket and settling it in his ear. "Then let's finish this."

He turned toward a building on the left, a structure as unassuming as any of the others, tapping the earpiece lightly. "Diana, we're here."

Nika's stomach roiled uneasily, and she took a deep breath to try to steel her nerves. Squaring her shoulders and bringing her gun up in her hands helped her to feel stronger, more in control, and when 47 glanced back at her, she nodded tightly. He released his pistol from its holster, and grasping it in his right hand, looked back to the heavy metal door. There was a soft click as he reached for the handle, and when he gave it a turn, it opened noiselessly.

Nika watched as he stepped in first, clearing the room. He motioned silently for her to follow. She did quickly and found that she was standing in an empty concrete stairwell, with a metal and cement staircase directly in front of her leading to the upper levels. There was a steel door to the left of the start of the stairs, though it did not seem as thick as the one they had just stepped through.

47 paused for a moment, head tilted slightly, listening to Diana. He turned back to Nika. "These stairs are clear to the third floor for ninety more seconds."

They sprinted up two flights, Nika silently congratulating herself for keeping up so well with 47, and stopped on the third floor landing before a door identical to the one on the first floor. A soft click indicated when Diana had unlocked it. Nika stepped forward, but 47 held his hand up, stopping her. She held back, readjusting the grip on her pistol as 47 slowly opened the door. A guard, dressed in a black tactical jacket and gray slacks stood with his back to them, completely oblivious to them standing in the doorway not three feet behind him. 47 moved forward silently, grasping the man about his neck and bringing the butt of his gun down on his head with a crushing force. The man immediately went limp in his arms.

Nika stepped into the hallway, closing the stairwell door softly. 47 was dragging the unconscious guard toward a utility closet and she walked over quickly, opening the narrow door. He stuffed the man in carefully.

"The second guard on this level is patrolling on the northeastern quadrant. Diana will alert us when he rotates back this way." 47 spoke quickly, his tone pitched low.

Nika silently gestured for him to lead the way, uncertain her voice wouldn't crack for how dry her throat suddenly seemed to be.

He turned away from her and began walking down the short corridor, with its pristinely white walls, Nika following closely behind him. He took a right at a branch in the hallway, then a left, leading her down a corridor exactly identical to the last two. They passed three closed doors, before 47 pulled to a stop in front of one near the end of the hallway. A key card device attached beside the door showed a blinking red light for a moment before the light flashed to a steady green. 47 opened the door quickly and ushered Nika inside.

Automated fluorescent lights came to life as soon as the door clicked shut, illuminating a large white, windowless room filled with neat rows of tall, black metal cabinets. Nika stood rooted to her spot as 47 holstered his pistol and made his way down one of the rows.

"Is this all of the contracts the Agency has out?" she asked, astonished.

47 opened a cabinet near the middle of the room, sliding out the long drawer and flicking through the many files in the row. "Yes, these are contracts that have not been completed yet, organized alphabetically. Agent files are located on the floor beneath us." He pulled a manila file folder from the row and closed the drawer carefully, then walked back to her as she stood by the door.

"And when the contracts are completed? What happens to the files then?"

47 nodded toward a wide stainless-steel tube set in the corner that ran from the floor to the ceiling. A small hatch was positioned in the middle of it, with a tiny, thick-glassed window set into the metal door. "The hard copies are incinerated and the electronic records remain encrypted in the ICA's database." He held the file out to her. "Would you like to do the honors?"

She did not hesitate to take it from his hand. It was the last remnant of her old life- a life she was eager to move on from.

Nika looked down at the file as she stepped to the incinerator, seeing a small black and white photo of her face paper clipped to the top corner. She almost didn't recognize herself; heavy, dark makeup, mouth set in a downturned, disaffected line, haughty eyes barely concealing the sadness inside.

She tore her gaze away from the picture, refusing to be overwhelmed by the sudden rush of memories that flooded her mind. 47 stepped to stand next to her and showed her how to operate the incinerator, and after a few moments, the old Nika Boronina was nothing more than ash.

The relief she felt was like a heavy, suffocatingly hot fur coat being lifted from her shoulders. She turned to 47, smiling. He returned it with a smile of his own, then bent his head to the side slightly, listening to Diana. His smile instantly faded.

"The second guard is circling back. We have two minutes to get back to the stairwell."

Nika's heart skipped a beat, but she followed behind 47 as he turned and walked to the door quickly. The hallway was as empty and silent as they had left it.

47 wasted no time in striding down the corridor, taking a right at the corner. Nika slowed for a moment, glancing down at her pistol as she too rounded the corner, just checking to make sure the safety was off, and when she looked back up, 47 was gone; the hallway was empty. She immediately stopped, panic flooding her heart.  _If we are separated_ …

She nervously licked her lips.  _Don't be fucking ridiculous, Nika,_  she chided herself sternly,  _He's probably waiting for me at the stairwell already_.

She held her breath, trying to listen for footsteps and heard nothing.

 _It's okay; he couldn't have gone that far, right?_  She gripped her gun a little tighter and crept down the hallway cautiously. And still no sounds other than her own soft footsteps on the tile and her heart pounding rapidly in her chest hit her ears.

She came to an intersecting corridor and was faced three choices: straight, left, or right. A glance down each and confirmed that, yes, they were all exactly, irritatingly fucking identical.  _Shit._ She picked the right turn and hurried around the corner, having no idea how much of their two minutes was already gone _._

And came face to face with guard number two. Stocky, muscular build, short-cropped black hair, brown eyes wide with surprise. The shock on his face mirrored her own.

He fumbled to unholster his side arm, and Nika took full advantage of the opportunity. She acutely remembered 47 telling her to only fire her weapon if absolutely necessary, and so planted her feet, gripped her gun as tightly by the barrel in her right hand as she could, and swung toward the man's temple. He reflexively jerked his head back, but wasn't quite fast enough. The butt of the pistol smashed into the side of his nose with a sickening crunch. He cried out as blood immediately began to gush down his mouth and chin, and brought one hand up to cover his face.

Nika hoped the blow would have knocked the fucker out, even misplaced as it was, but he stayed upright and was reaching to his hip holster with the hand that wasn't covering his bloodied nose, still trying to pull his weapon free. She stepped forward, adrenaline rushing through her veins, mind reaching back to the self-defense techniques 47 had shown her. She slammed her foot down on the man's instep and brought her fist up into his gut as hard as she could.

It was like punching a brick wall.

The guard growled in rage and pain and grasped the front of Nika's shirt before she could even think about stepping back from him. He yanked her forward, but her shoes slipped in his blood splattered over the tile floor. She fell backward gracelessly, the guard, caught off balance, falling right on top of her, causing her to smack the back of her head as soon as she hit the ground. She swore she saw stars and blinked up dazedly as he straddled her, his hands going around her throat, the blood that was still streaming from his now-crooked nose splashing hotly down onto her face.

She struggled and fought as much as she could, but the man on top of her was just too fucking heavy for her to gain any sort of leverage against him. His hands tightened around her neck and she screamed, screamed with the last bit of oxygen she had left in her lungs, the one number she loved most in this whole goddamn world.

"FORTY-SEVEN!"


	21. Chapter 21

   
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47 knew Nika was no longer right behind him before he even reached the stairwell door, before he even heard her scream his name. And it wasn't because he couldn't hear the faint tap of her shoes on the tile anymore- it was something he  _felt_ , like some vital part of himself had just disappeared.

He had doubled back at a sprinting pace, panic clouding his mind, adrenaline throbbing through his veins. He barely heard Diana's voice over the sound of his own pulse thundering in his ears. It was the exact same feeling of helplessness he had felt that morning at Olga's house, finding Nika's side of the bed empty.

"She took a right instead of left." Diana spoke to him from somewhere far away.

47 tore around the corner, his shoes skidding on the smooth tile, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the second guard, straddling Nika, his hands around her neck, throttling her with an infuriated snarl on his face- and blood, blood  _everywhere_ ; coating the floor, slathered across the guard's mouth and chin, covering Nika's face.

Something inside of him snapped; whatever last remnant of that controlled, calculated hitman that he once was, broke clean in half at the sight of that man's hands on Nika, inflicting pain on the only person in his life who had ever thought him worthy enough of love.

47 lunged forward, a loud roar reverberating out through his chest, a red haze of fury clouding his vision. He grabbed the guard by the front of his tactical jacket and yanked him back up and off Nika, slamming the startled man's back up against the nearest wall hard enough to crack the plaster. White flakes of paint drifted down like snow.

The guard's wide eyes suddenly narrowed in realization at who 47 was, and he glared at him over the deep purple bruises painted under his eyes and laid across his shattered nose. "I  _thought_ that bitch looked familiar." A crooked, bloodstained grin spread across his face. "It's a shame you interrupted me- I was gonna have some fun before I finished her off. Is that whore as good as everyone says, Agent Forty-seven?" The man chuckled darkly and shifted under 47's iron grip, furtively attempting to bring his hand to his sidearm.

47 only held him tighter and drove his knee up into the guard's balls. The man jerked forward reflexively, howling in pain. 47 immediately slammed him back against the wall again, mind crowded solely with the intense desire to make him suffer for what he had done to Nika, for even  _presuming_  that he could lay a hand on the one person he cherished above all others, the only woman he loved, would ever love, with every broken, undeserving piece of himself.

Rage burned through him and he wedged his elbow up under the guard's chin crushing into his trachea, effectively pinning him against the wall, then used his free hand to unholster the Silverballer on his left side. He brought the gun up in a hand that was for the very first time, unsteady, and pressed it to the guard's forehead roughly, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a feral snarl. The guard thrashed frantically, fighting for oxygen, before his eyes began to roll back in his head.

And just as 47's trembling finger settled over the trigger, he heard Nika's voice calling out to him, wavering and far away, but drawing closer, as if he were a drowning man kicking to the surface of a depthless ocean.

"Forty-seven, stop! Please, that's enough!"

He blinked and looked at the now-unconscious guard, his limp body held against the wall only by 47's elbow smashed up against his throat. He drew his hands away and stepped back, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. The guard slumped to the floor as he turned toward Nika.

She was standing behind him, eyes pleading, a tear tracking through the blood smeared over her cheeks, a ring of bruises already beginning to form around her throat like a morbid parody of a necklace. He immediately holstered his weapon and reached his hands out to her, turning her head gently, frantically looking for the injury that was the source of the blood.

Her hands came up to cover his, stilling his desperate movements. "It's not mine," she said, her voice gravely.

His gaze continued to glide over her face, not comprehending her words. "You're hurt, Nika. Let me just…"

She broke in firmly. "It's not my blood, Forty-seven." She tugged his hands from her cheeks gently and brought the bottom hem of her shirt up, trying to scrub the blood from her face. "It's his." She nodded toward the guard, still slumped on the ground.

47 released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and brought his thumb up to brush a drying drop of blood from the dragon tattoo on her cheek. It left a red smear on her temple like the war paint mark of a warrior.

She stilled, brought her eyes to his. She was a warrior, indeed, in every conceivable way; full of a quiet, unassuming strength whose profound depth he had yet to even see the end of.

He was suddenly struck with a foreign language lesson from his childhood, of Greek root words, of the goddess Nike from whose Nika's name was derived- the goddess of strength and speed and victory.

"Victory." He spoke the word with a soft wonder, running his thumb over her tattoo once more.

Nika's eyes searched his face, puzzled.

He opened his mouth to explain, but was interrupted by Diana's voice in his ear, as calm and crisp as ever, keys tapping faintly in the background. "I don't mean to alarm you, Forty-seven, but if you don't get your arse in gear, this whole operation will have been for nothing."

He tore his gaze away from Nika, glancing to the unconscious guard behind him, then to the blood splashed on the floor. Diana must have seen his hesitancy from the surveillance camera in the corner. "I'm running a recorded loop of the corridor so that security won't be alerted, but the shift is about to change and your two  _friends_  aren't going to be unconscious for much longer."

Her words finally moved him to act. He grasped Nika's hand and led her to the stairwell quickly; she followed without protest.

They swiftly descended to the second floor, where 47 motioned for Nika to hold steady before the door. She kept her eyes trained on him, unquestioning trust clear in the look she gave him. A gratifying rush of vindication swelled in his chest; after everything he had put her through, she still had complete faith in him.

Diana's voice was in his ear again, along with the ever-present tapping of computer keys. "The hallway leading away from the stairwell door is clear for the moment."

The door opened soundlessly under 47's hand and closed almost as quietly as he and Nika stepped into the hallway. The corridor was identical to the one on the third floor, as well as the one on the fourth floor for that matter. The ICA was nothing if not monotonously efficient. The only difference between this and the other floors was the large black letters painted across the wall on the left, spaced evenly between two starkly white doors, humbly proclaiming the Agency's motto in boldface Latin: Merces Letifer  _Lethal Trade._

47 strode past the words purposefully. They were words that defined a part of his life he only wanted to be done with, a relic, ancient history.

He rounded the corner, ever aware of Nika's footsteps behind him and came to a stop before the door to the room housing his file. The keypad mounted beside the door showed a blinking red light. 47 and Nika stood in the noiseless hallway, waiting for Diana to unlock the door.

"Diana?" he broached in a low whisper after they had been standing there for the better part of five seconds.

"Just give me a moment. The Agent file rooms are a bit trickier."

The heavy sound of booted footfalls drawing close suddenly hit 47's ears loudly in the ringing silence of the empty corridor. His heart rate ticked up when the keypad still showed red.

"Now, damnit," he ground out between clenched teeth.

The light suddenly flashed to green and Nika released a relieved sigh beside him. He grasped her wrist and they slipped into the room soundlessly. They stood quietly for a moment, waiting until the footsteps passed the door and faded away down the hallway.

"You're clear for four minutes and thirty-nine seconds. When the shift changes, there's nothing I can do to stop the new guards from seeing the mess on the third floor when they come to relieve their partners," Diana warned.

"Understood," 47 said firmly. He turned to Nika, "We have just over four and a half minutes."

Her face paled. "Will that be enough time?"

He turned back to face the room and the large, black filing cabinets held therein, speaking over his shoulder as the strode down the row nearest him. "It is far less than I had planned on, but we will make it work. We have no other choice."

He pulled to stop before the cabinet he knew held his file and tugged the drawer open. He distinctly remembered coming to this facility as a young man, being shown around the file rooms as a mandatory requirement before being assigned his first contract. He had never really understood the purpose of the outing then, but now assumed it was just another means for the ICA to control its Agents, to make it clear that every contract they had completed, every mission that had been assigned to them, had been painstakingly documented, as if those manila file folders, stamped and double stamped with the words 'confidential' and filed away neatly in precise order was all that they were comprised of; nameless, faceless pawns that held little significance and were easily replaceable.

47 willed away the tremor in his hand as he grasped his file from the drawer. It was much thicker now than when he had seen that first fleeting glimpse of it, filled with the reports of more ordered assassinations than he could remember completing.

Nika's voice was soft as she stood beside him. "Jesus, Forty-seven," she breathed the words out in amazement. "That thing has to be," she held her hand up to the file, gauging it, "twelve centimeters thick, at  _least_."

He glanced over at her, then back to the heavy file in his hands. Some deep, quietly insistent part of himself urged him to open it, if only to find out where he had come from, if he had been given a name in the beginning, hell, even just the  _year_  he was born. But he knew, that in this moment, time was of the essence and maybe there were certain things about himself that he was just not meant to know.

He sighed resignedly and quickly began stepping to the incinerator in the corner.

Diana's voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. "Forty-seven," she broached, her tone urgent. He had never heard her voice as anything other than calm and collected. Concern lanced through him like the cold swipe of a steel blade.

"We're almost done here," he answered her, nearly to the incinerator, Nika following closely behind him.

"Agent Twenty-nine has learned of your location. I have no idea how. He's about fifteen paces from the your location." Her words were rushed, shaky.

47's heart stopped, he swore it did. He turned toward the door, shoving Nika behind him protectively, clutching his file to his chest, with barely any time to form a coherent thought. His Silverballer was in his hand before he even realized he had reached for it, just as the door swung open.

29 was there, standing on the threshold, and it was like 47 was suddenly staring at an old picture of himself, taken seemingly a lifetime ago. Impeccably tailored black business suit, crisp white shirt, flawless blood-red tie, closely shaven bald head, face a carefully composed, emotionless mask, devoid of compassion, devoid of everything but that calculating lethality that 47 knew so well because of the years upon years he himself spent clutched in that cold grasp.

29 brought his silenced Silverballer up in a steady, even hand, leveling it right at 47's heart from across the room. And in that instant, time itself seemed to slow.  _I am more than I once was;_  his grounding mantra, his reminder that he could now choose to spare life rather than end it. But even as that refrain played and replayed in his mind, he knew, knew with an doubtless certainty, that even if he hit 29 in one of his extremities in an effort to momentarily incapacitate him, the other Agent would not even slow, would not stop until his objective had been completed, until he had killed 47 and then, without him there to protect her, Nika would be next. 47 literally had no other choice than to kill 29, the closest thing he had ever had to family, knowing with a disgusted sense of pity that the Agency would only see his death as a necessary sacrifice to lay at the feet of their aberrant ideals.

He pulled the trigger back on his pistol with a silent apology falling from his lips just as 29's weapon discharged.

The .45 slug that hit 47 in the chest knocked him back a step, into Nika standing behind him; it didn't seem to hurt as bad as the countless other bullet wounds he had received over his lifetime, but he willed the shock of it away, needing to make sure he had hit 29 fatally, that Nika would at least have a chance to escape, even if it was without him by her side.

He looked down the barrel of his still-smoking pistol to 29, seeing the entry wound over the other Agent's left eyebrow. 29 took one step into the file room, the door closing quietly behind him, his eyes wide with what was most likely the first look of surprise that had ever been on his face. His Silverballer clattered to the tile floor, followed closely by the Agent himself.

47 closed his eyes for a moment in relief, and when he opened them, Nika was standing before him, her face a frantic mix of emotions. "Oh my God, Forty-seven," she cried.

He chanced a look down, steeling himself for the worst. But what he saw had him smiling in astonishment: A .45 caliber bullet hole boring through the ICA file that he had been holding to his chest. He pulled the thick stack of papers away, small bits of photographs and carefully documented assassinations floating down like confetti, and held it up. The bullet was embedded in the file, not more than three centimeters from being a clean through and through. He quickly glanced down to his chest. There was no mark on his shirt, no sign of blood, though from the ache he felt when he pulled in a deep breath, he knew he'd most likely have a bruise to catalogue this most recent near death experience.

Nika looked to him with eyes glistening with unshed tears, then to the file in his hand, then back to his eyes, her face tight with disbelief. He shook his head, still as stunned as she was.

Diana's voice was in his ear, wavering and uncertain. "Forty-seven, I don't know how he got past me. It's inexcusable."

"It's fine, Diana. We're fine." He leaned toward Nika and pressed a soft kiss to her lips before pulling back and striding to the incinerator in the corner, reholstering his pistol. "We're almost done here. Just make sure the hallways are clear, so we can get the hell out."

"Understood."

47 shoved the file into the incinerator and turned the machine on without a second thought, grasping Nika's hand in his when she came to stand beside him and watch.

She entwined their fingers together and squeezed gently, looking on as his past went up in smoke. "Now we can really start over," she said softly.

He nodded slowly, then turned away from the incinerator, tightening his grip on her hand slightly before releasing it as they made their way to the door.

"How much time do we have until the shift change, Diana?"

"We are just at the two minute mark." Her voice had returned its cool collectedness again.

47 did a quick mental calculation. Two minutes would be cutting it very close, but it would still be enough time for them to get down one flight of stairs and slip out of the building undetected.

"Is the hallway clear?" He held his hand on the door handle awaiting Diana's response. Nika stepped over 29's body gingerly and came to stand next to 47, her hands tightly gripping her pistol, her finger resting on the trigger guard, just like he had shown her.

"It will be in three, two, one. Clear."

He opened the door quickly and led Nika back through the empty corridor to the stairwell door. His hand was reaching for the knob when Diana's voice stilled him.

"Forty-seven, wait. Something has alerted security. I'm showing eight guards entering the stairwell at the first floor and heading in your direction."

47 swallowed back the irritation rising inside him; there was not much of this mission that seemed to be going right. "Is the roof accessible from the stairwell?"

"Yes, there is an access door one flight up from the fourth floor," Diana answered.

47 turned to Nika. "Change of plans."

She swallowed visibly, but nodded her readiness.

He opened the door quickly and stepped into the stairwell with Nika right behind him. The clamor of boots on the metal staircase echoed up to them loudly.

"We need to get to roof," he said to Nika in a clipped whisper.

"Then let's fuckin' go," she answered.

47 smiled at her tenacity- he couldn't help it. Nika returned it with a smile of her own. And then they were off, racing up the stairs as quickly and quietly as they could, Nika actually outpacing him a time or two, chasing one another with grins plastered across their faces as if it were only a game and their lives weren't in immediate danger.

They tore through the roof access door, skidding to a stop on the gravel covering the ground, Nika dragging in panting breaths, but grinning wildly. 47 turned and slammed the door on the commotion of the guards perusing them. A faint click signaled that Diana had locked it.

"That should hold them for a moment," she said smugly.

"Don't be cocky, Diana. It doesn't suit you," he retorted teasingly.

She laughed lightly in his ear, "I do believe that's my line, Agent Forty-seven."

He was smiling when he turned back to Nika. She smirked at him. "What now genius?" she asked, gesturing to the wide, flat rooftop.

47 jogged over to the side of the roof, the loose gravel covering it crunching under his feet as he went. He peered over the edge, seeing a rusted wrought iron fire escape bolted loosely to the side of the building. The thing didn't look like it would support the weight of a goddamn sparrow, much less Nika.

He jerked his head up at the sound of angry shouts and the pounding of fists against the access door, then glanced to the opposite edge of the rooftop, seeing the ICA's neighboring building set fairly close and, luckily, at the same height. He ran across the rooftop, grasping Nika's wrist and tugging her along as he passed her, then looked over the gap between the buildings, judging the distance to be somewhere around a meter and a half.

He turned to Nika. "We're going to have to jump."

The color drained from her face. "What? No. What about the fire escape?"

"It won't hold us, Nika. That's why we have to get to that building." He pointed across the gap, "There'll be one there we will be able to use."

She shook her head brusquely, her bottom lip quivering. "I can't do it. It's too far."

He grasped her shoulders, drawing her focus to him. "You can do it, Nika. You  _will_  do it. We have no other choice." He brushed his thumb over the tattoo on her cheek, then brought his lips down to hers, pouring every ounce of encouragement and strength into the kiss that he could muster before pulling back and stepping to the building's edge. He stepped up onto the short ledge, throwing a reassuring smile back at her over his shoulder, before jumping deftly across to the adjacent building.

He turned to Nika, holding his arms out. "Your turn."

She stuck her pistol in her waistband, squared her shoulders, and pulled in a deep breath before nodding sharply- His warrior, as perfect and fearless as ever. She sprang forward, legs stretching as far as they would go in a flawless  _grand jeté_  that would rival any dancer in the Moscow Ballet.

But 47 had not taken into account their difference in stride length; an error he would  _never_  forgive himself for.

Nika fell, with a short, shrill scream that pierced his ears and jolted straight to his heart.

"NO!" he cried out, his heart suddenly threatening to pound its way out of his fucking ribcage. He fell to his knees, not even registering the sharp bite of the gravel covering the roof, and bent forward over the edge of the building. And was unable to hold back a relieved sob as it racked through his body. Nika was gripping a small stone ledge, fingers white with the effort, legs dangling down.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror. "Forty-seven," she whimpered.

He immediately reached his arm down. Nika looked to his hand, then shook her head violently. "I can't reach you!"

He stretched further, feet scrabbling back in the loose gravel as he leaned forward. "Here!" he cried desperately.

Her eyes were glistening harshly with unshed tears as she looked up at him. "Goddamn it, Forty-seven! It's too fucking FAR!" she shouted angrily.

His mind whirled, frantically clawing for a solution, for  _anything_. And then it hit him. He straightened back from the edge, hands flying up to his tie, undoing the knot and ripping it from his neck as fast as his fingers would allow. He wrapped the thin side around his hand twice to get a firmer grip, then leaned back over the edge, stretching to get as close as possible.

Nika immediately latched onto the tie with one hand then brought the other up to clutch at the material, a broken cry falling from her lips.

He began tugging her up, his back straining from the awkward angle. Nika thankfully didn't struggle or flail, making it much easier to  _finally_  pull her up onto the roof with a rough grunt.

47 wasted no time in hauling her to her feet and dragging her into a tight embrace. She trembled against him for a moment before brining her arms around his middle to hold him fiercely.

A muffled chuckle drifted up to him. "Told you that tie was lucky," she said breathlessly after she pulled back to look up at him.

He smiled weakly and pressed a shaky kiss to the top of her hair, grateful with every fiber of his being that she was there, in his arms.

It was then that the access door on the Agency's roof finally gave way, spilling out a seemingly endless stream of guards in a flurry of shouted orders. 47 shoved Nika in the direction he assumed the fire escape to be, stuffing his tie in his pocket and drawing his twin Silverballers almost simultaneously. He fired at the first wave of guards that were running across the ICA's rooftop, bringing them down with precisely placed, non-lethal hits. He only stopped firing and turned to run when he finally heard the metal clunk of the fire escape ladder being lowered behind him.

He reached the edge of the building, with the sound of bullets whizzing shrilly by his head, then slipped over the side easily after seeing that Nika had made it almost the whole way down. He was soon standing beside her, reholstering his pistols with a practiced ease, and glancing around to gather his bearings. They were back in the narrow alleyway behind the buildings, and surprisingly, right next to the dumpster where he had hidden the suitcase that he had used to transport their weapons.

He quickly rummaged the bag out, finding it clean but for a few dusty smudges streaked over the black fabric. He grasped its handle tightly in one hand and turned to face Nika. A faint sheen of sweat was slicked across her forehead and hectic blooms of color rode high on her cheeks from exertion and the nearly smothering humid night air.

"We'll be able to evade any guards that happen to follow us by sticking to the shadows until we can find a suitable vehicle." He brought his hand up to brush back a few wisps of hair from her temple. "Stay focused, stay alert. We're almost done."

She nodded and gazed back at him with such a clear expression of love that he felt his heart skip a beat in response. While he was still learning to recognize the emotions she directed at him, he was increasingly familiar with that look of affection, of love- it did not cease to surprise him, though, when he saw it, knowing it was for him and him alone, especially after a lifetime of being denied such a gift. He turned away from her, reminding himself that this was not over yet, reminding himself, like he had just told her, to stay focused.

"Diana?" he asked in a low whisper.

"Right here, Forty-seven."

"Our files have been taken care of." He turned toward Nika, gesturing her to follow him as he made his way to the mouth of the alleyway. "Have you gone through the hard drive yet?"

"Just…now." The ever-present tapping of computer keys suddenly stopped and after a beat Diana spoke again, "You've both been properly cleared. And Forty-seven?"

He paused at the entrance of the alley. "Yes?"

"It has been an honor working with you."

A small smile touched his lips. "It is a mutual feeling, Diana."

And with that, the connection was ended, leaving only a muted silence between them. He pulled the earpiece from his ear and put it away in his pocket alongside his tie, absently brushing his fingers over the frayed silk before pulling his hand free.

Nika tugged the hem of his jacket gently. "Look, Forty-seven, there."

He peered through the darkness to where she was pointing. A deserted deep-red BMW sedan sat parked at the curb across the street from them.

"That suitable enough for you?" she asked playfully, arching an eyebrow.

"I guess it'll do," he replied evenly, a repressed smirk twitching at his lips. He couldn't help teasing her a little, not when he suddenly felt so liberated, knowing they were finally free of the ICA.

The amused smile on Nika's face faltered for a moment until she realized he was only kidding. She laid a light slap to his shoulder before they made their way across the street cautiously.

It was not long until 47 had the doors open and the hot-wired engine roaring to life. He tightened his hands over the steering wheel and glanced over to Nika in the passenger seat. She settled back and released a sigh. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

47 threw the car into first, only happy to oblige.

The drive to the Copenhagen airport was largely uneventful, due mostly to the near absence of traffic on the roads they traveled in those early pre-dawn hours. And when they arrived at the ticket counter, 47 with their suitcase full of their disassembled weapons in hand, Nika swaying slightly as she fought exhaustion at his side, and they were informed that there were only two side-by-side seats left on the red-eye to Marseille, France, he wondered if his tie really  _was_  lucky.

/

47 looked out the window of the AirFrance A320 gliding 30,000 feet above France just as the sun cleared the horizon, signaling the start of what most people would see as just another day. But he knew that the dawning of this day was the start of a new life for Nika, for him. He tugged the deeds to the vineyard from an inner pocket in his jacket and glanced down at the folded papers. They were more worn now than when he had first mailed them to Nika, but it did not lessen the value of the property, not when its fundamental worth was held in more than just the land. It was a place for new beginnings, a place to finally call home.

He looked over to Nika sleeping in the seat beside him, his eyes suddenly drawn to her hands wrapped loosely about her middle, to the simple silver band encircling her left ring finger. The poignant look she had given him last night when he placed it in her outstretched hand had momentarily taken him aback. He knew how fiercely she loved him, felt its strength in every touch, in every kiss, but he had never even considered the idea of marriage, never thought that Nika would desire him to be her husband. But that look had shaken something deep inside of him and he knew that she did, without her even having to say the words aloud. And now as he stared at her delicate, skilled hands, at the band fitted snugly on her left ring finger, he knew, with a profound and undeniable conviction, that he desired that too.

He replaced the deeds in his pocket and woke Nika gently as the plane descended into Marseille, his heart nearly full to bursting with a love he had never imagined he would have ever been able to experience.

/

After a short taxi ride to the countryside, 47 and Nika found themselves at the entrance of their property in the Chateauneuf-du-Pape Province. Rolling black-soil hills laden heavily with full, well-manicured grapevines marched their way to a newly updated stone chateau that sat on a ridge overlooking the land. Early morning sunlight danced through the leaves of the tall, thick trees lining the gravel driveway that lead from the main road through the vineyard, dappling light and shadow across Nika's cheeks as she looked over at him. A broad grin was spread across her face, elation clearly thrumming through her.

He moved to stand before her, his heart thumping wildly in anticipation, and took her hands in his, squeezing gently. She gazed up at him, eyes bright, waiting for him to speak.

"Nika, you have taught me more about myself than I ever thought I needed to know. You taught me how to feel, how to love, and how to accept it back," he paused, searching for the right words. "You are the reason that I am more now. More than I once was."

She looked up at him, her eyes widening in realization, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Forty-seven, are you proposing to me right now?"

A warm blush burned across his cheeks, but he brought her hands up to his mouth, pressing the cool metal of the band on her finger to his lips. "Is it acceptable?" he asked.

She tugged her hands from his and flung her arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground roughly. "What do you fuckin' think?" she whispered with a low chuckle, before smashing her lips against his in a kiss he'd be hard pressed to ever forget.

_Dearest Olga,_

_It's been a few months since me and Timothy stayed at your Inn in Luga, and I'm not sure if you even remember who I am, but I wanted to tell you that of all the women I have ever met, you were more of a mother to me in those few short hours than any other. You opened your home to us when we were most in need, and opened your heart to me when I wasn't sure how much farther I would be able to go, and for that I am forever grateful to you. I never thought back then that I'd be able to have that 'normal' life, but now I know that even if life can't ever really be normal, it can still be perfect, and in ways I never thought I deserved. A loving husband, a home of our own, and can you keep a secret that I found out about only just this morning? a baby I never thought, after all that I had been through before in my old life, that I'd be able to have. I can barely write this without my hand shaking across the paper. I'm enclosing our contact information so that you'll be able to call so we can catch up, and hopefully, if you ever need a vacation from your Inn, you'll come and visit us._

_Best Wishes,_

_Nika Petersen_

* * *

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to thank everyone who's stuck by this story and everyone who reviewed and left kudos. I poured my heart into all the words I wrote and I hope it shows, and I hope, above everything else, that you enjoyed the journey as much as I did.

xoxo,

Lopsided Whiskey Grin

**Author's Note:**

> Comments=love  
> hmu on tumblr: http://lopsided-whiskey-grin.tumblr.com/  
> *** will add a chapter every other day or so probably if I have time ***


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